J  A- 


■Jj*-^, 


1 


Z'i 


r 


THE   UNIVERSAL  ANTHOLOGY 

WITH    BIBLIOGRAPHIC   ESSAYS 
BY 


RICHARD  GARNETT 
(Editor-in-Chief) 


LEON  VALLEE 

(Frbxch  Literature) 


PAUL  BOURGET 

(French  Critical  Essays) 

EMILE  ZOLA 

(French  Naturalistic  Literature) 

EDWARD  DOW  DEN 

(Elizabethan  Literature) 

DEAN   FARRAR 

(Literature  of  Religious  Criticism) 

E.  MELCHIOR  DE  VOGUE 

(Russian  Literature) 

DONALD  G.  MITCHELL 

(Collected  Literature) 

F.  BRUNETIERE 

(Modern  French  Poetry) 

HENRY  SMITH  WILLIAMS 

(Scientific  Literature) 

AINSWORTH   R.  SPOFFORD 

(American  Literature) 


ALOIS   BRANDL 

(German  Literature) 


AND 


ANDREW   LANG 

(Nineteenth     Century     Literature) 

HENRY  JAMES 

(The  Novel) 

MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 

(The  Modern  Drama) 

PASQUALE  VILLARl 

(The  Italian  Renaissance) 

BRET  HARTE 

(Short  Stories) 

ARMANDO  PALACIO  VALDES 

(Decadent  Literature) 

EDMUND  GOSSE 

(Poetry) 

J.  P.  MAHAFFY 

(Historical  Literature) 

WALTER  BESANT 

(Historical  Novels) 


This  Garnett  Memorial  Edition,  in  English,  of  The 
Universal  Anthology  is  limited  to  one  thousand  complete 
sets,  of  which  this  copy  is  number 


Richard  Garnett 


GARNETT  MEMORIAL  EDITION 


THE 


UNIVERSAL  ANTHOLOGY 


A   Collection   of   the    Best    Literature,  Ancient,    Medieval   and  Modern, 
WITH  Biographical  and  Explanatory  Notes 


EDITED   BY 

RICHARD    GARNETT 

KEEPER  OF   PRINTED   BOOKS   AT  THE   BRITISH    MUSEUM,    LONDON,    185I    TO    1899 

LEON    VALLEE 

UBRARIAN   AT  THE   BIBLIOTHEQPE   NATIONALE,    PARIS,    SINCE    187I 

ALOIS    BRANDL 

PKOFESSOR  OF   LITERATURE   IN  THE   IMPERIAL  UNIVERSITY   OF   BERLIN 


Dolume  ®ne 


PUBLISHED   BY 

THE  CLARKE  COMPANY,    Limited,    London 

MERRILL  &  BAKER,   New   York  EMILE  TERQUEM,   Paris 

BIBLIOTHEK  VERLAG,   Berlin 


Entered  at  Stationere^  Hall 
London,  1899 

Droits  de  reproduction  et  de  tradaction  r^servfi 
Paris,  1899 

Alle  rechte,  insbesondere  das  der  Ubersetzung,  vorbehalten 
Berlin,  1899 

Proprieta  Letieraria,  Riservate  tutti  i  divitti 
Rome,  1899 

Copyright  1899 

by 
Eichard  Gamett 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


VOLUME  L 


Assyrian  Story  of  the  Creation:  Baby- 
Ionian  Tablet 

Ishtar's  Descent  to  the  Underworld  :  Baby- 
lonian Tablet 

Hymn  to  the  God  Merodach  s  Babylo- 
nian Tablet 

Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise 

The  Murder  of  Abel 

Who  wrote  the  Pentateuch  ?       .        .        . 

Legend  of  Jubal 

Tubal  Cain 

Life  in  Ancient  Egypt         .... 

The  Egyptian  Husbandman 

Precepts  of  Ptah-Hotep  —  The  Oldest  Book 
yet  Discovered  :  Egyptian  Papyrus  . 

The  Egyptian  Judgment  Day  —  Book  of 
the  Dead  :  Egyptian  Papyrus   . 

The  Tombs  of  the  Kings      .... 

Epic  of  Pentaur :  Egyptian  Papyrus  . 

The  Mirage  in  Egypt 

Conspiracy  and  Sorcery       .... 

Address  to  a  Mummy 

Setna  and  the  Magic  Book:  Egyptian 
Papyrus     

Mycerinus 

The  Burial  of  Moses 

Story  of  the  Two  Brothers:  Egyptian 
Papyrus     

Joseph  and  Potiphar's  "Wife 

King  Solomon  and  the  Hoopoes  . 

Gone  in  the  Wind 

Classic  Chinese  Poems  :  Shi-King 

The  Doctrine  of  the  Mean  .... 

Vedic  Hymns 

Lex  Talionis  :  Ramayana   .... 

Love  Stronger  than  Death  :  Mahabharata  . 


Tr.  by  A.  H.  Sayee 
Tr.  by  H.  Fox  Talbot 


John  Milton 
Vittorio  Alfieri 
A.  H.  Sayce 
George  Eliot 
Charles  Mackay    . 
Canon  Bawlinson 
Charles  Bollin 

Tr.  by  Philippe  Virey  . 

Ud.  F.  A.  Wallace  Budge 

Mathilde  Blind 

Tr.  by  Heinrich  Brugsch-Bey 

Theodore  Watt-Dtmton 

Georg  Ebers 

Horace  Smith 

Tr.  by  W.  M.  Flinders  Petrie 
Matthew  Arnold    . 
Mrs.  Alexander    . 

Tr.  by  P.  Le  Page  Benouf 

Charles  Wells 

Bobert  Curzon 

Buckert :  Tr.  by  Mangan 

Tr.  by  William  Jennings 

Confucius 

Sir  M.  Monier-Williams 

Tr.  by  Monier-Williams 

Tr.  by  Protap  Chandra  Boy 


PASS 

25 

31 

34 
35 
38 
61 
65 
83 
85 
102 

104 

110 

116 
120 
125 
126 
147 

149 
158 
161 

163 
172 
179 
183 
185 
188 
193 
207 
209 


X  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

A  Hindoo  Catechism  :  Mahabharata  .        .     Tr.  by  Protap  Chandra  Roy  222 

Hindoo  Apologues Ed.  Flora  Annie  Steel          .  227 

Tlie  Jackal  and  the  Iguana 227 

The  Jackal  and  the  Partridge 229 

The  Close  Alliance 232 

The    Tiger,    the    Brahman,    and    the 

Jackal 235 

The  Barber's  Clever  Wife 237 

The  King  who  was  Fried 244 

Ogres  of  Hindoo  Demonology      .        .        .    J.  T.  Bunce  .        .        .249 

Pilpay's  Fables Oriental  Unknown      .        .  254 

The  Raven,  the  Rat,  and  the  Pigeons 254 

The  Partridge  and  the  Falcon 257 

The  Man  and  the  Adder •        .  259 

The  Adventures  of  Zirac 263 

A  Husband  and  his  Wife 264 

The  Hunter  and  the  Wolf    .        .        .  • 265 

The  Ravenous  Cat 268 

The  Two  Friends 269 

-Ssop's  Fables Retold  by  Phoedrus        .        .  273 

Fin  McCoul :  Ancient  Irish         .        .        .     Retold  by  Wm.  Carleton       .  285 

Stories  from  the  Northern  Myths        .        .     Ed.  Morris  and  Magnusson  .  296 

I.     The  Dragon's  Hoard 296 

II.     The  Slaughter  of  the  Giukings 306 

Lemminkainen's  Voyage  :  Kalevala    .        .     Tr.  by.  J.  M.  Crawford        .  313 
Slyboots :  Esthonian  Folk  Tale  .        .        ,    Ed.  W.  F.  Kirby  .        .        .327 

Russian  Fairy  Tales Ed.  R.  Nisbet  Bain      .        .  337 

The  Golden  Mountain 337 

Story  of  Gore-Gorinskoe 341 

The  Woman  Accuser 345 

Greek  Myths John  Ruskin         .        .         .  349 

Ballade  of  the  Mysterious   Hosts  of   the 

Forest T.de  Banville :  Tr.  by  Lang  355 

The  Labors  of  Hercules       ....     Sir  George  W.  Cox       .        .  356 

Hymn  of  Apollo P.  B.  Shelley        .        .        .361 

The  Golden  Apples William  Morris     .        .        •  362 

Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn         ....     John  Keats  ....  377 

Hymn  to  Minerva P.  B.  Shelley         ,        .        .  378 

The  Gorgon's  Head Nathaniel  Hawthorne  .        .  379 

Prometheus Lord  Byron  ....  399 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

VOLUME  I. 

RICHARD  GARNETT Frontispiece 

PAGE 

ADAM  AND   EVE .  36 

RUINS  OF  THE   TEMPLE    OF   PHIL^ 98 

BUILDING  OF  THE   PYRAMIDS 118 

THE   GORGON'S   HEAD 380 


PUBLISHERS'  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

As  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  matter  constituting  this 
work  is  copyright  property  protected  by  the  International  copy- 
right law,  the  Publishers  take  this  opportunity  of  acknowledging 
their  obligations  to  the  below-named  publishers  for  permission 
to  use  their  copyrighted  publications:  — 


Luzac  &  Company. 

Elliott  Stock. 

Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  Triibner  & 

Conapany,  Ltd. 
L.  C.  Page  &  Company. 
Harper  &  Brothers. 
David  Nutt. 

Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company. 
T.  Fisher  Uuwin. 
Macmillan  &,  Company,  Ltd. 
Ellis  &  Elvy. 

Little,  Brown  &  Company. 
Gr.  Routledge  &  Sons,  Ltd. 
John  Lane. 

A,  C.  McClurg  &  Company. 
Longmans,  Green  &  Company. 
The  Villon  Society. 
T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Company. 
Chatto  &  Windua. 
Smith,  Elder  &  Company. 
Lee  &  Shepard. 
George  Allen. 
John  C.  Nimmo, 
D.  Appleton  &  Company, 
W.  Heinemann. 
J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Company. 
Swan  Sonnensehein  &  Company, 

Ltd. 
George  Bell  &  Sons. 
The  D.  Lothrop  Compa.ny. 
W.  Blackwood  &  Sons. 
Henry  T.  Coates  &  Company, 
Bernard  Quaritch. 
Sampson  Low,  Marston  &  Qom- 

pauy. 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 
Cassell  &  Company,  Ltd. 
H.  S.  Nichols,  Ltd. 


B.  F.  Fenno  &  Company. 
The  Clarendon  Press. 
Chapman  &  Hall,  Ltd. 
Lamson,  Wolfe  &  Company. 
F.  Warue  &  Company. 
Williams  &  Norgate. 
Henry  Holt  &  Company. 

J.  M.  Dent  &  Company. 

H.  Frowde. 

Dana  Estes  &  Compaiiy. 

Ward,  Locke  &  Company,  Ltd 

Copeland  &  Day. 

Walter  Scott,  Ltd. 

Gibbings  &  Company,  Ltd. 

J.  W.  Arrowsmith, 

Fords,  Howard  &  HurJl*i»rt. 

Dodd,  Mead  &  Compatiy. 

Duckworth  &  Comjjany. 

Hntchinscn  &  Company. 

The  D.  G.  Francis  Company, 

Westminster  Gazette. 

John  Maoqneen. 

The  Robert  ( /larke  Company 

The  Leadenhall  Prfss, 

A-  Constable  h  Ccijipany. 

Keppler  &  Schwart7jr.ann. 

C.  Elkin  Matthews. 
Jar  told  &  Sons. 
George  Gottsl^rger  Peck. 
Hodder  &  Stoug}tt/Cn« 
Reeves  &  Turner. 

The  Century  Compat-y. 

Methueu  &  Company. 

Edward  Arnold. 

A  &  C.  Bla.ck. 

James  Blackwood  &  Company. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

John  Murray, 


THE    USE    AND    VALUE    OF    ANTHOLOGIES 

Written  for  this  Work  bt 
Db.  RICHARD  GARNETT,  C^. 

There  have  been  periods  in  human  history  when  the  action  of  the 
Turk  who  picks  up  and  preserves  every  stray  piece  of  inscribed 
paper,  "because  it  may  contain  the  name  of  AUah,"  has  been 
highly  reasonable.     Such,  in  fact,  is  the  present  attitude  of  the 
arch^ologist  and  explorer  to  the  fragments  of  papyrus   he   en- 
counters in  the  rubbish  of  buried  Egyptian  cities,  precious  because 
they  are  so  scarce,  because  they  are  so  old,  and  because  nobody  can 
tell  what  priceless  syUables  they  may  contain.     But  the  demeanour 
which  is  right  in  the  infancy  of  a  young  Hterature,  or  amid  the 
vestiges  of  an  antique  one,  is  whoUy  uncaUed  for  in  an  age  where  the 
difficulty  is  to  keep  out  of  print.     Even  without  the  printing  press, 
the  scholars  of  the  Alexandrian  period  found  hterature  gettmg  too 
much  for  them.     What  must  it  be  now,  when  every  daHy  news- 
paper requires  machinery  capable  of  producing  more  Hterary  matter 
in  an  hour  than  aU  the  scribes  of  Alexandria  could  have  turned 
out  in  a  generation?     As   the   existence  of  a  great  river  m  a 
civihsed  country  involves  that  of  dykes,  and  quays,  and  bridges, 
so  the  existence  of  a  great  hterature  impUes  the  ministrations  of 
hterary  officials  engaged  in  winnowing  the  bad  from  the  good,  and 
helpmg  the  latter  to  permanence.     In  a  rude,  imperfect  manner 
this  function  is  discharged  by  the  current  criticism  of  the  periodical 
press;  but  this  criticism,  produced  in  haste,  and  by  persons  of 
widely  varying  degrees  of  quahfication,  requires  to  be  itself  very 

carefully  winnowed. 

•'  xlii 


:dv  INTRODUCTION : 

The  appearance  of  a  new  book  in  ancient  times  must  have 
elicited  abundance  of  viva  voce  criticism,  but  the  literary  review 
can  scarcely  have  existed.  Every  intellectual  condition  favoured, 
but  material  conditions  forbade.  The  circulation  of  our  most 
esteemed  journals  would  be  limited  indeed,  if  they  were  produced  by 
transcribers  working  with  reed  pens ;  nor,  in  fact,  when  the  indis- 
pensable exigencies  of  ordinary  life  had  been  satisfied,  did  enough 
papyrus  remain  for  the  books  and  the  comments  also.  Readers 
no  doubt  spoke  their  minds  freely,  but  authors  did  not  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  grammarians,  corresponding  to  our  reviewers,  until 
they  had  passed  this  preliminary  ordeal,  and  had  established  more 
or  less  claim  to  a  permanent  place  in  literature.  The  grammarian, 
sometimes,  no  doubt,  somewhat  of  a  pedant,  but  almost  always 
endowed  with  the  culture  entitling  him  to  act  as  literary  expert 
and  appraiser,  proceeded  by  one  of  three  methods.  If  he  did 
not  reject  the  aspirant  altogether,  he  admitted  him  into  his  canon, 
or  drew  upon  him  for  his  anthology,  or  made  him  the  subject  of  an 
epitome — 

Flasked  and  fine, 
And  priced  and  saleable  at  last ! 

It  can  rarely  be  said  now,  as  it  often  could  of  old,  that  a  single 
book  ifi  the  chief  repertory  of  knowledge  on  any  important  subject. 
While,  therefore,  epitomes  of  information  are  more  frequent  than 
ever,  epitomes  of  particular  authors  have  become  rare.  The  canon, 
also,  is  a  classification  dLSicult  to  maintain  in  presence  of  the 
extreme  complexity  of  modern  literature.  In  ancient  times  this 
beneficial  system  was  comparatively  easy  to  apply,  when  the  world 
possessed  but  one  literary  language,  and  that  one  in  which  the 
standard  of  excellence  was  both  lofty  and  well  defined.  It  was 
not  difficult  for  a  Greek  to  decide,  for  instance,  that  but  nine  of  the 
numerous  lyric  poets  of  Hellas  deserved  to  be  accounted  canonical, 
and  the  conditions  of  literary  composition  had  so  greatly  altered 
between  the  times  of  Simonides  and  those  of  Aristarchus,  that 
there  was  but  little  prospect  of  the  rekindling  of  a  "  Lost  Pleiad," 
or  of  the  intrusion  of  a  tenth  muse  into  the  hallowed  circle.  The 
classification  went  farther ;  three  tragic  poets  and  three  of  the  old 


THE  USE  AND  VALUE  OF  ANTHOLOGIES  XV 

comedy  were  -picked  out  from  the  rest  as  pre-eminently  worthy  to 
be  read ;  seven  of  the  later  Alexandrian  dramatists  were  allowed  to 
form  a  band  of  Epigoni,  below  the  great  but  among  the  good; 
twenty-four  of  Menander's  comedies  were  selected  as  eminently 
worthy  of  transcription,  and  hence  survived  for  the  perusal  of 
Photius  after  a  thousand  years.  Of  the  canon  of  Scripture,  Old 
and  New,  and  the  weighty  controversies  connected  with  it,  it  is 
needless  to  speak.  In  the  modern  literature  the  principle  of  the 
canon  is  less  easy  of  application,  on  account  of  the  difficulty  of 
establishing  an  absolute  criterion  of  style,  and  also  of  its  greater 
complexity  and  variety.  The  supreme  perfection  of  prose  style, 
the  felicitous  expression  to  which  nothing  can  be  added  and  from 
which  nothing  can  be  taken  away,  has,  perhaps,  hardly  ever  been 
attained  but  by  those  authors  of  the  first  rank  with  whom  the 
modern  world  has  least  concern.  Kousseau  may  be  an  exception, 
but  to  canonise  Bossuet  will  not  be  to  find  him  readers,  and  who  is 
to  discriminate  the  temporary  from  the  permanent  in  the  enormous 
production  of  Voltaire  ?  We  should,  moreover,  be  confronted  by 
the  want  of  any  standard  of  excellence  universally  agreed  upon. 
Athens  or  Alexandria  could  prescribe  the  laws  of  taste  to  obedient 
antiquity,  but  Pascal's  writ  does  not  run  iu  Britain,  or  Carlyle's 
in  France.  The  age  of  literary  canons,  in  the  sense  of  select  authors 
prescribed  for  imitation,  is  gone  by,  and  apart  from  individual 
examples  and  the  admonitions  which  we  occasionally  receive  from 
men  of  taste  sensitive  to  the  literary  failings  of  their  times,  such 
as  Matthew  Arnold,  the  best  way  to  maintain  a  high  standard  of 
authorship  is  the  method  of  anthology,  of  a  selection  from  those 
pieces  which  have  actually  striven  and  prevailed  in  the  great 
literary  struggle  for  existence,  and  thus  practically  demonstrated 
the  qualities  that  keep  a  writer's  name  green. 

Two  systems  nave  been  followed  in  the  confection  of  anthologies, 
each  of  which  has  its  advantages.  The  first,  especially  recommend- 
able  for  poetical  anthologies,  is  the  system  of  fastidious  severity, 
which  can  only  be  carried  out  by  a  compiler  of  exquisite  taste  and 
consummate  judgment.     Such  was  the  system  on  which  Meleager, 


XVi  INTRODUCTION : 

the  first  Greek  anthologist,  framed  his  collection,  which,  so  far  as 
can  be  determined  in  the  mutilated  condition  in  which  it  has 
reached  our  times,  did  not  contain  a  single  piece  unacceptable  on 
poetical  grounds.  Such  was  also  the  case  with  the  first  series  of 
the  late  Mr.  Palgrave's  "  Golden  Treasury,"  which  we  are  able  to 
judge  with  more  exactness  than  Meleager's,  knowing  not  only 
what  Mr.  Palgrave  admitted,  but  what  he  excluded.  The  same 
high  standard,  however,  is  incapable  of  appUcation  to  selections  of 
mixed  verse  and  prose,  since  modern  prose  rarely  attains  the  flaw- 
less perfection  of  much  modern  verse,  nor,  growing  out  of  and 
leading  up  to  other  passages,  can  it  usually  possess  the  symmetrical 
unity  of  a  complete  poem.  Another  principle  may  here  be  invoked, 
and  the  selection  may  in  a  manner  be  entrusted  to  the  public 
suffrage,  those  pieces  being  especially  chosen  which  are  known  to 
have  appealed  with  special  force  to  the  general  heart  and  con- 
science. Such  is  the  case  with  the  selections  which  these  remarks 
accompany.  The  great  majority  are  here  by  universal  suffrage, 
and  the  great  extent  of  the  collection,  unparalleled  in  any  similar 
undertaking,  allows  the  general  estimate  to  be  reflected  with  a 
precision  unattainable  in  an  attempt  to  present  "  infinite  riches  in 
little  room."  The  endeavour  to  indicate  pubUc  feeling  by  a  few 
favourite  pieces  would  be  like  carrying  a  sample  brick  as  a 
representative  of  a  great  city ;  it  is  otherwise  where  there  is  room 
for  hundreds  of  such  objects  of  general  approval.  If  this  character 
of  echo  of  vox  populi,  vox  Dei  does  not  seem  equally  merited  by  all 
departments  of  this  colossal  gathering,  the  objector  may  reflect 
that  the  favourite  literature  of  educated  persons  is  not,  like  a  plane 
surface,  spread  out  everywhere  and  equally  visible  in  every  part,  but, 
like  the  sod  itself,  a  succession  of  strata  through  which  the 
explorer  must  drive  his  shaft,  and  that  the  occurrence  of  Plato,  for 
example,  in  the  uppermost  stratum,  is  a  good  reason  for  not 
expecting  him  lower  down;  that  the  lower  strata  have  their 
indigenous  products  too ;  and  that  the  business  of  a  collection 
formed  on  this  principle  is  to  exhibit  not  one  stratum  but  all,  so 
long  as  all  deserve  the  name  of  literature.  This  is  assuredly  the 
case ;  various  as  are  the  degrees  of  culture  and  the  modifications  of 


THE  USE  AND  VALUE  OF  ANTHOLOGIES  Xrii 

taste  here  represented,  not  much  will  be  found  that  does  not 
incontestably  belong  to  the  world  of  Uterature,  as  distinguished 
from  the  world  of  bookmaking.  While  such  a  collection  is 
especially  profitable  as  a  mirror  of  the  nation's  mental  activity,  and 
an  echo  of  the  general  verdict,  it  might  well  have  impressed  an 
mteUigent  foreigner  by  the  vigour,  affluence,  and  variety  of  the 
Anglo-American  intellect,  and  the  splendour  of  the  gifts  bestowed 
upon  the  finer  spirits  of  the  mother  country  and  her  daughters, 
whether  of  Teutonic  or  of  Celtic  stock. 

The  large  proportion  allotted  in  this  anthology  to  American 
literature  is  not  without  significance  at  the  present  crisis  in  the 
history  of  our  race.     We  in  Britain  have  learned  to  acknowledge  a 
Greater  Britain,  greater  actually  in  extent,  potentially  in  world- 
wide importance,  than  our  own.     So  frankly  has  the  admission 
been  made  that  the  phrase  recording  it  has  become  a  household 
word,  as  famous  and  universally  accepted  as  John  Bull.     But  we 
are  now  beginning  to  see  that  the  phrase  cannot  be  limited  to  our 
colonial   dependencies.     Let  any  one  ask  himself  the  question: 
Supposing  that  Australia,  for  instance,  were   to   assert  political 
independence  of  Great  Britain,  would  she  therefore  be  excluded 
from  Greater  Britain  ?     Assuredly  not ;  for  one  tie  that  would  have 
been  snapped,  twenty  would  remain— kinship,  language,  literature, 
religion,  institutions  substantially  identical,  commercial  and  social 
intercourse— after  a  short  interval  at  most,  the  same  affection  as  of 
old.     But  if  this  is  true  of  the  new  colony,  it  must  be  equally  true 
of  the  old.     The  rupture  of  political  connections  and  the  change  of 
political  institutions  have  made  no  breach  between  England  and 
America.     In  reading  the  specimens  of  American  literature  in  this 
collection  we  are  at  once  aware  that  we  are  reading  our  own.     They 
do  not  differ  from  us  as  do  the  specimens  of  the  literature  of  France 
or  Germany.     They  are  racy  of  the  soil,  of  course,  and  that  soil  is 
not  the  son  of  England,  but  neither  is  it  the  soil  of  Scotland  or 
Ireland.     It  is  not  two  great   literatures  regarding  each   other 
across  the  Atlantic,  but  one  colossal  literature  bestriding  that  vast 
ocean.     What  hope  and  encouragement  this  fact  affords  it  is  need- 


xviii  INTRODUCTION : 

less  to  say,  both  as  a  revelation  of  the  indefinite  possibilities  of  the 
development  of  our  literature  in  the  future,  and  as  an  assurance  of 
the  mutual  understanding  of  the  two  moieties  of  this  great  English- 
speaking  nation  which  present  circumstances  do,  and  future 
circumstances  will,  so  urgently  require.  A  virtual  identity  of 
literary  expression  and  literary  sentiment  which  has  grown  up  by 
the  force  of  circumstances  without  encouragement,  sometimes  with 
discouragement,  from  statesmen  and  organs  of  public  opinion, 
clearly  points  to  affinities  too  deep  to  be  unsettled  by  transitory 
circumstances,  and  which  will,  indeed,  impress  such  circumstances 
into  its  service. 

Apart  from  the  great  actual  merits  of  American  writers,  the 
successful  transplantation  of  English  hterature  to  the  United 
States  and  "  Greater  Britain  "  is  almost  the  most  important  event 
that  has  ever  befallen  it,  indefinitely  extending  the  chances  of 
the  one  thing  absolutely  essential  to  its  existence.  There  is,  after 
all,  no  glory  of  British  literature  equal  to  that  which  is  all  but 
unique  with  it — its  continuity.  SheUey,  who  was  not  only  a  great 
poet  but  a  great  intellect,  notes  this  when  he  says — 

Poesy's  imfailing  river 

Which  through  Albion  winds  for  ever. 

This  is  the  simple  fact,  save  for  the  dull  period  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  when  literature  all  over  Europe  was  mainly  restricted 
to  commentary  and  compilation,  England  has  never  wanted  a 
successor  to  Chaucer,  and  the  least  superficially  attractive  ages  of 
her  literature  have  frequently  produced  the  works  of  most  sterling 
value.  The  same  may  be  said  of  French  literature  as  regards 
prose,  not  as  regards  poetry,  which,  unless  versified  logic  and 
rhetoric  be  poetry,  slept  in  France  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  years. 
Elsewhere,  in  Italy,  Germany,  Spain,  Portugal,  Greece,  we  every- 
where behold  the  same  phenomena  of  epochs  of  extreme  brilliancy 
followed  by  long  periods  of  silence  or  of  the  productiveness  of 
perverted  taste.  England  alone  is  always  active  to  good  purpose, 
and  if  some  eras  of  her  literary  history  are  less  exemplary  than 
others,  there  is  not  one  with  which  the  nation  or  the  world  could 


THE  USE  AND  VALUE  OF  ANTHOLOGIES  xix 

dispense.  The  prospect  of  her  continued  activity  is  obviously 
brightened  by  the  new  Englands  she  has  created  in  the  regions 
of  the  newly  -  discovered  world,  whether  American,  African,  or 
Australian,  most  favourable  to  intellectual  as  well  as  to  physical 
activity.  Like  the  banyan  tree,  she  has  sent  down  shoots  rooted  in 
the  earth,  any  of  which  may  rival  the  massiveness  and  surpass  the 
durability  of  the  parent.  Something  like  this  has  happened  of  old, 
when  Eoman  literature,  effete  at  home,  was  long  preserved  and 
cultivated  by  Spaniards,  Gauls,  Africans,  and  Egyptians,  who  were 
either  descended  from  Roman  colonists,  or  had  imbibed  the  spirit 
of  Latin  letters.  The  barbarian  deluge,  however,  overwhelmed  the 
colonies  and  dependencies  as  well  as  the  mother  country  —  a 
catastrophe  little  likely  to  befall  the  widely-disseminated  lands 
where  English  is  the  language  of  letters  and  of  life.  American 
and  colonial  literature,  therefore,  deserve  profound  attention  from 
Britain,  as  the  certain  perpetuators  of  her  own,  as,  even  in  their 
present  undeveloped  condition,  redeeming  this  from  the  reproach 
of  insularity,  and  as  indefinitely  enlarging  its  prospects  both  of 
permanence  and  of  influence  upon  mankind.  It  would  be  rash  to 
predict  that  the  next  English-speaking  genius  of  the  first  rank 
will  be  born  in  America  or  Australia,  but  it  would  be  equally  rash 
to  predict  that  he  will  not. 

In  one  of  the  charming  letters  which  Emerson  wrote  to  Carlyle 
the  philosopher  is  found  telling  his  friend  of  his  vain  but  strenuous 
endeavour  to  get  through  the  whole  of  Goethe's  work.  "  Thirty- 
five  I  have  read,"  he  writes  blithely,  "  but  compass  the  other  thirty- 
five  I  cannot."  Seventy  volumes  in  all  from  one  man !  Little 
wonder  that  the  Concord  sage  could  find  time  for  perhaps  only 
twice  as  many  as  the  present  day  finds  time  to  remember. 

For  a  moment  this  thought  may  seem  discouraging,  and 
derogatory  to  modern  literature,  especially  when  we  consider  the 
care  taken  to  preserve,  and  the  pains  spent  in  interpreting,  every 
scrap  that  has  come  down  to  us  from  antiqiiity.  But  this  is  not 
really  the  case,  for  what  is  the  larger  part  of  antique  literature 
itself  but  a  co-operative  alliance  for  the  performance  of  tasks  too 


XX  INTRODUCTION: 

extensive  for  any  single  man  ?  Ancient  authors,  like  modern:.,  fell 
to  a  certain  extent  into  oblivion,  but  revived  again  in  those  whom 
they  had  influenced,  and  by  whom  the  best  part  of  their  writings 
were  preserved,  though  mainly  as  ingredients  in  the  works  of 
others,  often  in  an  altered  form.  The  Bible  and  the  Talmud,  the 
Vedas,  the  Mahabarata,  the  Avesta,  the  Sagas,  and  the  Eddas  are 
not  the  work  of  one  man  but  of  many  men.  They  are  full  of  frag- 
ments of  older  writings,  frequently  recognisable  as  such.  Granting 
the  personality  of  Homer  and  the  unity  of  his  epics,  who  can  doubt 
that  he  must  have  worked  upon  abundant  stores  of  material 
furnished  by  more  primitive  minstrels  ?  The  dramatists  prey  upon 
him  in  their  turn,  ^Eschylus  declared  that  his  tragedies  were  but 
scraps  stolen  from  the  great  Homeric  banquet.  Take  even  a  com- 
paratively recent,  a  highly  finished,  and  a  perfectly  artistic 
production  like  the  uEneid,  what  would  remain  even  of  this 
national  epic  of  Eome  if  Virgil  were  deprived  of  everything  that  ho 
had  borrowed  from  Greece  ?  He  was  a  great  anthologist,  and  his 
English  rival  Milton  even  a  greater ;  naturally  so,  for  he  had  wider 
fields  to  gather  in.  Ancient  history,  with  one  or  two  remarkable 
exceptions  to  be  noticed,  is  more  than  an  anthology;  it  is  a 
composite,  a  breccia.  As  historical  facts  became  more  numerous 
and  less  manageable  throughout  the  lengthening  ages,  the  standard 
histories  of  Ephorus,  Theopompus,  and  the  Uke,  become  a  quarry 
for  later  compilers  of  the  order  of  Diodorus  and  Trogus,  who  some- 
times transcribe  their  predecessor,  sometimes  abridge  him,  bub 
alway  fuse  his  identity  into  their  own.  The  exception  is  in  the 
case  of  writers  like  Herodotus  and  Thucydides,  rendered  by  perfect 
style  or  consummate  political  wisdom  a  possession  for  ever,  as  one 
of  them  said.  If  a  man  can  write  like  Herodotus  or  Thucydides 
he  need  not  fear  the  compiler  or  the  anthologist,  and  many  moderns, 
such  as  the  very  Goethe  whom  we  have  cited  as  an  instance  of  the 
impermanence  of  great  authors,  have  attained  this  standard  in  their 
best  works.  For  their  inferior  writings  and  the  general  mass  of 
authors  there  remains  but  the  alternatives — to  be  absorbed,  to  be 
excerpted,  or  to  be  virtually  forgotten. 

Absorption  may  be  defined  as  the  process  undergone  by  valuable 


THE  USE  AND  VALUE  OF  ANTHOLOGIES  xxi 

literary  matter  which  has  not  received  due  artistic  form  and  polish. 
It  is  not  thrown  away;  it  does  not,  properly  speaking,  cease  to 
exist,  but  it  exists  only  as  an  element  in  the  compositions  of  later 
authors.  The  truly  artistic  production,  on  the  other  hand,  though 
equally  Uable  to  be  laid  under  contribution  as  a  source  of  informa- 
tion, may  well  outlast  the  inferior  work  into  whose  service  it  is 
thus  pressed,  as  the  diamond  survives  the  glass  which  it  engraves. 
Almost  every  word,  for  example,  which  Arrian  has  written  about 
Alexander,  is  very  probably  coloured  by  the  authoritative  biography 
of  Ptolemy  Lagus,  Alexander's  companion  in  arms,  but  of  Ptolemy's 
work  itself,  deficient  in  style  and  arrangement,  not  a  word  is 
preserved  except  those  which  may  be  embedded  in  Arrian's 
narrative.  Caesar's  Commentaries,  on  the  other  hand,  have  been 
equally  used  as  historical  authorities,  but  the  works  of  those  who 
have  thus  employed  them  have  mostly  passed  away,  while  the 
Commentaries  remain  as  fresh  as  of  old.  Yet,  though  terse  brevity 
is  among  their  most  conspicuous  merits,  the  modern  reader,  unless 
a  professional  scholar  or  historian,  cannot  find  time  for  them,  not 
from  their  prolixity,  but  from  the  immensity  of  the  mass  of  even 
more  valuable  literature.  He  must  therefore  make  their  acquaint- 
ance through  general  .Koman  histories  like  Mommsen's,  or  special 
biographies  Like  Proude's,  or  else  through  the  medium  of  excerpt 
or  anthology.  This  is  but  another  way  of  saying  that  only  the 
best  literature  of  its  respective  description,  be  that  description 
elevated  or  familiar,  is  proper  for  anthology.  Such  a  collection 
should  take  no  cognisance  of  the  literature  destined  to  absorption, 
but  only  of  that  which  is  isolated  from  the  mass  by  its  superior 
symmetry  and  polish.  It  follows  that  it  will  be  more  concerned 
with  poetry  and  fiction  than  with  the  graver  departments  of 
intellectual  labour,  since  these  can  be  profitably  cultivated  without 
the  art  which  in  poetry  and  fiction  is  absolutely  indispensable,  and 
also  that  in  dealing  with  serious  literature  it  will  concern  itself 
chiefly  with  what  approximates  most  closely  to  art :  in  disquisition 
seeking  for  what  is  most  cogent,  in  narrative  for  what  is  most 
dramatic.  The  very  law  of  its  existence,  then,  should  keep  it  at  a 
high  level 


xxu  INTRODUCTION : 

Modern  literature,  yet  more  decisively  nineteenth-century 
literature,  possesses  a  richness,  a  range,  and  a  variety  to  which  the 
classics  of  the  past  can  lay  no  claim ;  and  if  something  of  the 
perfection  of  form  which  belongs  to  classical  times  is  lacking  to  the 
present  day,  this  loss  is  compensated  in  many  ways.  Nothing  is 
more  characteristic  of  the  Uterary  activity  of  the  last  hundred  and 
fifty  years  than  its  amazing  fertility.  To  such  a  point  indeed  has 
the  production  of  books  now  attained,  that  the  danger  lies  not  in  a 
paucity  of  genius,  but  in  the  fact  that  the  works  of  genius  may 
be  lost  in  a  surging  and  ever-increasing  flood.  Every  nation 
contributes.  In  England  and  America  alone  upwards  of  10,000 
new  books  are  printed  every  year.  Were  we  to  take  twice  Dr. 
Johnson's  prescription  of  five  hours  a  day  and  read  as  fast  as  could 
Scott  or  Macaulay,  it  would  still  be  impossible  to  compass  a  tithe 
of  this  mass.  Sifting  and  selection,  once  a  slow  and  orderly  process, 
has  become  an  imperative  necessity.  The  dilenmia  is  clear.  We 
shall  either  read  aimlessly,  catching  up  bits  of  what  is  good  and 
great  amid  much  chaff  and  trash,  or  else  we  shall  neglect  the 
greater  literature  altogether. 

The  time  seems  ripe  for  a  reversion  to  the  principle  which  gave 
to  classical  literature  its  glory  and  its  life — the  sentiment  that  the 
highest  excellence  should  be  aimed  at,  and  hence  for  a  revival  of 
the  Greek  idea  of  an  anthology — a  "  gathering  of  flowers,"  which 
is  after  aU,  translated  into  broader  scientific  language,  but  Darwin's 
formula  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  It  is  out  of  this  idea  that 
the  present  work  has  sprung.  If  the  execution  corresponds  to  the 
idea,  if  it  is  a  true  gathering  of  flowers,  it  should  aid  in  protecting 
our  literature  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  from  its  chief  actual 
danger — debasement  to  suit  the  taste  of  half-educated  readers.  The 
perils  which  it  has  already  encountered  and  escaped — the  Euphuistic 
affectation  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  the  Gallicism  of  the  Eestoration 
period,  the  frigidity  of  the  eighteenth  century — were  maladies 
caught  from  the  refined  and  intelligent  society  of  those  epochs. 
All  these  it  has  surmounted,  but  it  is  now  confronted  with  an 
entirely  novel  danger  in  the  dependence  of  the  most  popular,  and 
therefore  the  most  influential,  authors  upon  a  wide  general  public 


THE  USE  AND  VALUE  OF  ANTHOLOGIES  xxiii 

neither  refined  nor  intelligent,  who  now,  as  dispensers  of  the 
substantial  rewards  of  Hterature,  occupy  the  place  formerly  held 
by  the  Court,  the  patron,  and  the  university.  Hence  a  serious 
apprehension  of  a  general  lowering  of  the  standard  of  literature, 
far  more  pernicious  than  any  temporary  aberration  of  taste.  The 
evil  may  be  combated  in  many  ways,  and  not  least  effectively  by 
anthologies,  which,  if  skilfully  adapted  to  meet  the  needs  of  the 
general  reader,  and  not  themselves  unduly  tolerant  of  inferior  work, 
may  do  much  good  by  familiarising  the  reader  with  what  is 
excellent  in  the  present,  and  reminding  the  writer  of  the  conditions 
on  which  alone  fame  may  be  won  in  the  future. 


THE  ASSYRIAN  STORY  OF  THE  CREATION. 

Bt  Rbv.  a.  h.  sayce. 

(From  "Records  of  the  Past.") 

[AitcHnALD  Hekkt  Satcb,  the  foremost  liring  Assyriologist  and  authority 
on  Hebrew  origins,  and  a  philologist  of  great  attainments,  was  born  near  Bristol, 
England,  September  25,  1846.  Graduated  at  Oxford,  and  ordained  1871.  His 
early  repute  was  so  great  that  at  twenty-seven  he  was  made  one  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment Rerision  Committee.  He  has  published  among  other  works  a  comparative 
Assyrian  Grammar  (1872);  "Principles  of  Comparative  Philology"  (1874); 
"Lectures  on  the  Assyrian  Language"  (1877);  "Babylonian  Literature" 
(1877)  ;  "Introduction  to  the  Science  of  Language"  (1880)  ;  "  Monuments  of 
the  Hittites  "  (1881),  revised  1888  ;  "  First  Light  from  the  Monuments  "  (1884)  ; 
"Ancient  Empires  of  the  East"  (1884)  ;  "Assyria"  (1885)  ;  "  Hibbert  Lec- 
tures on  the  Origin  and  Growth  of  Religion"  (1887)  ;  "Records  of  the  Past, 
New  Series"  (1889-1892)  ;  "  Life  and  Times  of  Isaiah"  (1889)  ;  "Races  of 
the  Old  Testament "  (1891)  ;  "Social  Life  among  the  Assyrians  and  Babylo- 
nians" (1891)  ;  "Primer  of  Assyriology"  (1894);  "The  Higher  Criticism  and 
the  Verdict  of  the  Monuments  "  (1894)  ;  "  The  Egypt  of  the  Hebrews  "  (1895)  ; 
"Early  History  of  the  Hebrews"  (1897). 

Fragments  of  a  long  epic  poem,  describing  the  creation  of 
the  world  in  a  series  of  tablets  or  books,  were  discovered  by 
Mr.  George  Smith  among  the  cuneiform  treasures  of  the  British 
Museum  which  had  come  from  the  royal  library  of  Kouyunjik 
or  Nineveh.  The  tablets  appear  to  be  seven  in  number  ;  and 
since  the  creation  was  described  as  consisting  of  a  series  of 
successive  acts,  it  presented  a  curious  similarity  to  the  account 
of  the  creation  recorded  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis. 

The  first  tablet  or  book  opens  before  the  beginning  of  time, 
the  expression  "  at  that  time  "  answering  to  the  expression  "  in 
the  beginning"  of  Genesis.  The  heavens  and  earth  had  not 
yet  been  created  ;  and  since  the  name  was  supposed  to  be  the 
same  as  the  thing  named,  their  names  had  not  as  yet  been 
pronounced.  A  watery  chaos  alone  existed,  Mummu  Tiamat, 
"the  chaos  of  the  deep."     Out  of  the   bosom   of   this   chaos 

25 


26  ASSYRIAN  STORY  OF  THE  CREATION. 

proceeded  the  gods  as  well  as  the  created  world.  First  came 
the  primeval  divinities  Lakhmu  and  Lakhamu,  words  of  un- 
known meaning,  and  then  An-sar  [Uranus,  Saturn]  and  Ki- 
sar,  "the  upper"  and  "lower  firmament."  Last  of  all  were 
born  the  three  supreme  gods  of  the  Babylonian  faith,  Anu  the 
sky  god,  Bel  or  Illil  the  lord  of  the  ghost  world,  and  Ea  the 
god  of  the  river  and  sea  [Jupiter,  Pluto,  Neptune]. 

But  before  the  younger  gods  could  find  a  suitable  habitation 
for  themselves  and  their  creation,  it  was  necessary  to  destroy 
"  the  dragon  "  of  chaos  with  all  her  monstrous  offspring.  The 
task  was  undertaken  by  the  Babylonian  sun  god  Merodach. 
Light  was  introduced  into  the  world,  and  it  only  remained  to 
destroy  Tiamat  herself.  Tiamat  was  slain  and  her  allies  put 
in  bondage,  while  the  books  of  destiny  which  had  hitherto 
been  possessed  by  the  older  race  of  gods  were  now  transferred 
to  the  younger  deities  of  the  new  world.  The  visible  heaven 
was  formed  out  of  the  skin  of  Tiamat,  and  became  the  outward 
symbol  of  An-sar  and  the  habitation  of  Anu,  Bel,  and  Ea, 
while  the  chaotic  waters  of  the  dragon  became  the  law-bound 
sea  ruled  over  by  Ea. 

The  heavens  having  been  thus  made,  they  were  furnished 
with  mansions  for  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  and  the  heavenly 
bodies  were  bound  down  by  fixed  laws  that  they  might  regulate 
the  calendar  and  determine  the  year. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  that  in  its  main  outlines  the  Assyr- 
ian epic  of  the  creation  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  the 
account  of  it  given  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis.  In  each 
case  the  history  of  the  creation  is  divided  into  seven  successive 
acts  ;  in  each  case  the  present  world  has  been  preceded  by  a 
watery  chaos.  In  fact,  the  selfsame  word  is  used  of  this 
chaos  in  both  the  Biblical  and  Assyrian  accounts  —  tehSm, 
Tiamat;  the  only  difference  being  that  in  the  Assyrian  story 
"  the  deep  "  has  become  a  mythological  personage,  the  mother 
of  a  chaotic  brood.  The  order  of  the  creation,  moreover,  agrees 
in  the  two  accounts ;  first  the  light,  then  the  creation  of  the 
firmament  of  heaven,  subsequently  the  appointment  of  the  celes- 
tial bodies  "for  signs  and  for  seasons  and  for  days  and  years," 
and  next,  the  creation  of  beasts  and  "creeping  things." 

But  the  two  accounts  also  differ  in  some  important  particu- 
lars. In  the  Assyrian  epic  the  earth  seems  not  to  have  been 
made  until  after  the  appointment  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  instead 
of  before  it  as  in  Genesis  ;  and  the  seventh  day  is  a  day  of  work 


ASSYRIAN   STORY  OF  THE  CREATION.  27 

iastead  of  rest;  while  there  is  nothing  corresponding  to  the 
statement  of  Genesis  that  "  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the 
face  of  the  waters."  But  the  most  important  difference  con- 
sists in  the  interpolation  of  the  struggle  between  Merodach 
and  the  powers  of  evil,  as  a  consequence  of  which  light  was 
introduced  into  the  universe  and  the  firmament  of  the  heavens 
was  formed. 

It  has  long  since  been  noted  that  the  conception  of  this 
struggle  stands  in  curious  parallelism  to  the  verses  of  the 
Apocalypse  (Rev.  xii.  7-9)  :  "  And  there  was  war  in  heaven  : 
Michael  and  his  angels  fought  against  the  dragon  ;  and  the 
dragon  fought  and  his  angels,  and  prevailed  not ;  neither  was 
their  place  found  any  more  in  heaven.  And  the  great  dragon 
was  cast  out,  that  old  serpent,  called  the  Devil,  and  Satan, 
which  deceiveth  the  whole  world."  We  are  also  reminded  of 
the  words  of  Isaiah  xxiv.  21,  22  :  "  The  Lord  shall  visit  the 
host  of  the  high  ones  that  are  on  high,  and  the  kings  of  the 
earth  upon  the  earth.  And  they  shall  be  gathered  together, 
as  prisoners  are  gathered  in  the  pit,  and  shall  be  shut  up  in 
prison."  It  may  be  added  that  an  Assyrian  bas-relief  now  in 
the  British  Museum  represents  Tiamat  with  horns  and  claws, 
tail  and  wings. 

There  is  no  need  of  drawing  attention  to  the  profound 
difference  of  spiritual  conception  that  exists  between  the  Assyr- 
ian epic  and  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis.  The  one  is  mytho- 
logical and  polytheistic,  with  an  introduction  savoring  of  the 
later  materialism  of  the  schools  ;  the  other  is  sternly  monothe- 
istic. Between  Bel-Merodach  and  the  Hebrew  God  there  is  an 
impassable  gulf. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  the  last  lines  of  the  epic,  in  which  the 
creation  of  man  would  have  been  recorded,  have  not  yet  been 
recovered.  A  passage  in  one  of  the  early  magical  texts  of 
Babylonia,  however,  goes  to  show  that  the  Babylonians  believed 
that  the  woman  was  produced  from  the  man,  conformably  to 
the  statement  in  Gen.  ii.  22,  23.  We  there  read  of  the  seven 
evil  spirits,  that  "the  woman  from  the  man  do  they  bring 
forth." 

First  Tablet. 

At  that  time  the  heaven  above  had  not  yet  annoimced, 
or  the  earth  beneath  recorded,  a  name ; 
the  unopened  deep  was  their  generator, 


28  ASSYRIAN  STORY  OF  THE   CREATION. 

MuMMU-TiAMAT  (the  chaos  of  the  sea)  was  the  mother  of  them  all. 

Their  waters  were  embosomed  as  one,  and 

the  cornfield  was  unharvested,  the  pasture  was  ungrown. 

At  that  time  the  gods  had  not  appeared,  any  of  them ; 

By  no  name  were  they  recorded,  no  destiny  (had  they  fixed). 

Then  the  (great)  gods  were  created, 

Lakhmu  and  Lakhamu  issued  forth  (the  first), 

xintil  they  grew  up  (when) 

An-sab  and  Ki-sab  were  created. 

Long  were  the  days,  extended  (was  the  time,  until) 

the  gods  Anu  (Bel  and  Ea  were  born), 

Ax-SAB  and  Ki-sab  (gave  them  birth). 

The  rest  of  the  tablet  is  lost. 
Fourth  Tablet. 

BEVEB8E. 

"  (Against)  the  gods  my  fathers  thou  hast  directed  thy  hostility. 
Thou  harnesser  of  thy  companions,  may  thy  weapons  reach  their 

bodie(s). 
Stand  up,  and  I  and  thou  will  fight  together." 
When  TiAMAT  heard  this, 

she  uttered  her  former  spells,  she  repeated  her  command. 
TiAMAT  also  cried  out  vehemently  with  a  loud  voice. 
From  its  roots  she  strengthened  (her)  seat  completely. 
She  recites  an  incantation,  she  casts  a  spell, 
and  the  gods  of  battle  demand  for  themselves  their  arms. 
Then  Tiamat  attacked  Merodach  the  chief  prophet  of  the  gods; 
in  combat  they  joined ;  they  met  in  battle. 
And  the  lord  outspread  his  snare  (and)  inclosed  her. 
He  sent  before  him  the  evil  wind  to  seize  (her)  from  behind. 
And  Tiamat  opened  her  mouth  to  swallow  it. 
He  made  the  evil  wind  enter  so  that  she  could  not  close  her  lips. 
The  violence  of  the  winds  tortured  her  stomach,  and 
her  heart  was  prostrated  and  her  mouth  was  twisted. 
He  swung  the  club,  he  shattered  her  stomach ; 
he  cut  out  her  entrails ;  he  overmastered  (her)  heart ; 
he  bound  her  and  ended  her  life. 
He  threw  down  her  corpse ;  he  stood  upon  it. 
When  Tiamat  who  marched  before  (them)  was  conquered, 
he  dispersed  her  forces,  her  host  was  overthrown, 
and  the  gods  her  allies  who  marched  beside  her 
trembled  (and)  feared  (and)  turned  their  backs. 
They  escaped  and  saved  their  lives. 


ASSYRIAN  STORY  OF  THE  CREATION.  29 

They  clung  to  one  another  fleeing  helplessly. 

He  followed  them  and  shattered  their  weapons. 

He  cast  his  snare  and  they  are  caught  in  his  net. 

Knowing  (?)  the  regions  they  are  filled  with  grief. 

They  bear  their  sin,  they  are  kept  in  bondage, 

and  the  elevenfold  o^spring  are  troubled  through  fear. 

The  spirits  as  they  m&ich  perceived  (?)  the  glory  (of  Merodach). 

His  hand  lays  blindness  (on  their  eyes). 

At  the  same  time  their  opposition  (is  broken)  from  under  them ; 

and  the  god  Kingu  who  had  (marshaled)  their  (forces) 

he  bound  him  also  along  with  the  god  of  the  tablets  (of  destiny  in) 

his  right  hand. 
And  he  took  from  him  the  tablets  of  destiny  (that  were)  upon  him. 
With  the  string  of  the  stylus  he  sealed  (them)  and  held  the  .  .  .  of 

the  tablet. 
From  the  time  when  he  had  bound  (and)  laid  the  yoke  on  his  foes 
he  led  the  illustrious  enemy  captive  like  an  ox, 
he  established  fully  the  victory  of  An-sar  over  the  foe ; 
Merodach  overcame  the  lamentation  of  (Ea)  the  lord  of  the  world. 

Over  the  gods  in  bondage  he  strengthened  his  watch,  and 

Tiamat  whom  he  had  bound  he  turned  head  backwards ; 

then  the  lord  trampled  on  the  underpart  of  Tiamat. 

With  his  club  unbound  he  smote  (her)  skull ; 

he  broke  (it)  and  caused  her  blood  to  flow ; 

the  north  wind  bore  (it)  away  to  secret  places. 

Then  his  father  (Ea)  beheld  (and)  rejoiced  at  the  savor ; 

he  caused  the  spirits  (?)  to  bring  a  peace  offering  to  himself. 

So  the  lord  rested  ;  his  body  he  feeds. 

He  strengthens  (his)  mind  (?),  he  forms  a  clever  plan, 

and  he  stripped  her  of  (her)  skin  like  a  fish,  according  to  his  plan ; 

he  described  her  likeness  and  (with  it)  overshadowed  the  heavens ; 

he  stretched  out  the  skin,  he  kept  a  watch, 

he  urged  on  her  waters  that  were  not  issuing  forth; 

he  lit  up  the  sky ;  the  sanctuary  (of  heaven)  rejoiced,  and 

he  presented  himself  before  the  deep,  the  seat  of  Ea. 

Then  the  lord  measured  (Tiamat)  the  offspring  of  the  deep ; 

the  chief  prophet  made  of  her  image  the  house  of  the  Firmament. 

;^-Sarra  which  he  had  created  (to  be)  the  heavens 

the  chief  prophet  caused  Anu,  Bel,  and  Ea  to  inhabit  as  their 
stronghold. 

Fifth  Tablet. 

He  prepared  the  twin  mansions  of  the  great  gods. 

He  fixed  the  stars,  even  the  twin  stars  to  correspond  with  them. 

He  ordained  the  year,  appointing  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac  over  (it). 


30  ASSYRIAN   STORY  OF  THE  CREATION. 

For  each  of  tlie  twelve  months  he  fixed  three  stars, 

from  the  day  when  the  year  issues  forth  to  the  close. 

He  founded  the  mansion  of  (the  Sun-god)  the  god  of  the  ferryboat, 

that  they  might  know  their  bonds, 
that  they  might  not  err,  that  they  might  not  go  astray  in  any  way. 
He  established  the  mansion  of  Bel  and  Ea  along  with  himself. 
Moreover  he  opened  the  great  gates  on  either  side, 
he  strengthened  the  bolts  on  the  left  hand  and  on  the  right, 
and  in  the  midst  of  it  he  made  a  staircase. 

He  illuminated  the  Moon-god  that  he  might  be  porter  of  the  night, 
and  ordained  for  him  the  ending  of  the  night  that  the  day  may  be 

known, 
(saying :)  "  Month  by  month,  without  break,  keep  watch  in  thy  disk. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  month  light  up  the  night, 
announcing  thy  horns  that  the  heaven  may  know. 
On  the  seventh  day,  (filling  thy)  disk 
thou  shalt  open  indeed  (its)  narrow  contraction. 
At  that  time  the  sun  (will  be)  on  the  horizon  of  heaven  at  thy 

(rising). 
Thou  shalt  cut  off  its  .  .  . 

(Thereafter)  towards  the  path  of  the  sun  thou  shalt  approach. 
(Then)  the  contracted  size  of  the  sun  shall  indeed  change  (?) 
.  .  .  seeking  its  path. 
.  .  .  descend  and  pronounce  judgment. 

The  rest  of  the  obverse  and  the  first  three  lines  of  the  reverse  are 

destroyed. 


Seventh  Tablet. 

At  that  time  the  gods  in  their  assembly  created  (the  beasts). 

Tliey  made  perfect  the  mighty  (monsters). 

They  caused  the  living  creatures  (of  the  field)  to  come  forth, 

the  cattle  of  the  field,  (the  wild  beasts)  of  the  field,  and  the  creeping 
things  (of  the  field). 

(They  fixed  their  habitations)  for  the  living  creatures  (of  the  field). 

They  distributed  (in  their  dwelling  places)  the  cattle  and  the  creep- 
ing things  of  the  city. 

(They  made  strong)  the  multitude  of  creeping  things,  all  the  offspring 
(of  the  earth). 

...  in  the  assembly  of  my  family. 

.  .  .  Ea  the  god  of  the  illustrious  face. 

.  .  .  the  multitude  of  creeping  things  did  I  make  strong. 

.  .  .  the  seed  of  Lakhama  did  I  destroy. 

The  rest  is  lost. 


ISHTAR'S  DESCENT  TO  THE  UNDERWORLD.  31 

ISHTAR'S   DESCENT  TO   THE   UNDERWORLD. 

From  BABYLONIAN  TABLETS. 
(Translated  by  H.  Fox  Talbot  in  "  Records  of  the  Past,"  First  Series.) 

ISHTAR  was  the  goddess  of  Love,  answering  to  the  Venus 
of  the  Latins  and  the  Aphrodite  of  the  Greeks.  The  object  of 
her  descent  into  the  infernal  regions  was  probably  narrated  in 
another  tablet,  which  has  not  been  preserved,  for  no  motive  is 
assigned  for  it  here.  I  conjecture  that  she  was  in  search  of 
her  beloved  Thammuz  (Adonis),  who  was  detained  in  Hades 
by  Persephone  or  Proserpine.  We  may  compare  the  Greek 
legend,  which  was  as  follows,  as  given  by  Panyasis  (quoted 
by  Apollodorus) :  — 

"Aphrodite  had  intrusted  Adonis,  who  was  a  very  beauti- 
ful child  during  his  infancy,  to  the  care  of  Persephone  ;  but 
she  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  refused  to  restore  him.  Upon 
this  Aphrodite  appealed  to  Jupiter,  who  gave  judgment  in  the 
cause.  He  decreed  that  Adonis  should  remain  for  one  third 
of  the  year  in  the  infernal  regions  with  Persephone  ;  one  third 
of  the  year  in  heaven  with  Aphrodite  ;  the  remaining  third  of 
the  year  was  to  be  left  at  his  own  disposal.  Adonis  chose  to 
spend  it  in  heaven  with  Aphrodite." 

The  Assyrian  legend  differs  much  from  this,  but  yet  has 
some  resemblance. 

To  the  land  of  Hades,  the  region  of  (.  .  .) 

Ishtar,  daughter  of  the  Moon-god  San,  turned  her  mind, 

and  the  daughter  of  San  fixed  her  mind  [to  go  there]  : 

to  the  House  of  Eternity :  the  dwelling  of  the  god  Irkalla : 

to  the  House  men  enter —  but  cannot  depart  fi'om  • 

to  the  Road  men  go  —  but  cannot  return  : 

The  abode  of  darkness  and  famine, 

where  Earth  is  their  food:  their  nourishment  clay: 

Light  is  not  seen  :  in  darkness  they  dwell : 

ghosts,  like  birds,  flutter  their  wings  there  : 

on  the  door  and  gate  posts  the  dust  lies  undisturbed. 

When  Ishtar  arrived  at  the  gate  of  Hades 
to  the  keeper  of  the  gate  a  word  she  spoke : 
"  O  keeper  of  the  entrance !  open  thy  gate  ! 
"Open  thy  gate  I  again,  that  I  may  enter  I 
"  If  thou  openest  not  thy  gate,  and  I  enter  not, 


82  ISHTAR'S  DESCENT  TO  THE   UNDERWORLD. 

"  I  will  assault  the  door :  I  will  break  down  the  gate : 
"  I  will  attack  the  entrance :  I  will  split  open  the  portals : 
"  I  will  raise  the  dead,  to  be  the  devourers  of  the  liviDg  I 
"  Upon  the  living,  the  dead  shall  prey  I " 

Then  the  Porter  opened  his  mouth  and  spoke, 

and  said  to  the  great  Ishtar, 

"  Stay,  Lady  I  do  not  shake  down  the  door ! 

"  I  will  go,  and  tell  this  to  the  Queen  Nin-ki-gal." 

The  Porter  entered,  and  said  to  Nin-ki-gal, 

"  these  curses  thy  sister  Ishtar  [utters] 

"  blaspheming  thee  with  great  curses."  [  •  •  •  ] 

When  Nin-ki-gal  heard  this,  [  •  .  .  ] 
she  grew  pale,  like  a  flower  that  is  cut  off : 
she  trembled,  like  the  stem  of  a  reed : 
"  I  will  cure  her  rage,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  cure  her  fury: 
"  these  curses  I  will  repay  to  her ! 
"  Light  up  consuming  flames  I  light  up  blazing  straw  I 
"  Let  her  doom  be  with  the  husbands  who  deserted  their  wives  I 
"Let  her   doom   be  with   the  wives  who  from   their   husbands'  side 
departed  I 

"  Let  her  doom  be  with  the  youths  who  led  dishonored  lives  I 

"  Go,  Porter,  open  the  gate  for  her, 

"but  strip  her,  like  others  at  other  times." 

The  Porter  went  and  opened  the  gate. 

"  Enter,  Lady  of  Tiggaba  city !     It  is  permitted  I 

"  May  the  Sovereign  of  Hades  rejoice  at  thy  presence  I " 

The  first  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  was  taken  off  the 
great  crown  from  her  head. 

*  Keeper !  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  great  crown  from  my  head  I  " 
"  Excuse  it,  Lady !  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  its  removal." 

The  second  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  were  taken  off 
the  earrings  of  her  ears. 

"  Keeper !  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  earrings  of  my  ears  I  " 

"  Excuse  it,  Lady  1  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  their  removal !  " 

The  third  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  were  taken  off  the 
precious  stones  from  her  head. 

"  Keeper  I  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  precious  stones  from  my  head !  ' 
"  Excuse  it,  Lady !  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  their  removal  I " 

The  fourth  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  were  taken  off 
the  small  lovely  gems  from  her  forehead. 

"  Keeper  I  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  small  lovely  gems  from  my 
forehead  I" 

"  Excuse  it,  Lady  I  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  their  removal !  *■ 


ISHTAR'S  DESCENT  TO   THE  UNDERWORLD.  33 

The  fifth  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  was  taken  off  the 
central  girdle  of  her  waist. 

"  Keeper !  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  central  girdle  from  my  waist !  " 
"  Excuse  it,  Lady  I  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  its  removal  I  " 

The  sixth  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  were  taken  off  the 
golden  rings  of  her  hands  and  feet. 

"  Keeper  I  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  golden  rings  of  my  hands  and 
feet!" 

"  Excuse  it,  Lady  I  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  their  removal !  " 

The  seventh  gate  admitted  her,  and  stopped  her :  there  was  taken  off 
the  last  garment  from  her  body. 

"  Keeper !  do  not  take  off  from  me,  the  last  garment  from  my  body !  " 
"  Excuse  it.  Lady  I  for  the  Queen  of  the  land  commands  its  removal  1 " 

After  that  mother  Ishtar  had  descended  into  Hades, 

Nin-ki-gal  saw  her,  and  stormed  on  meeting  her. 

Ishtar  lost  her  reason ;  and  heaped  curses  upon  her. 

Nin-ki-gal  opened  her  moxxth  and  spoke, 

to  Namtar  her  messenger  a  command  she  gave : 

"  Go,  Namtar !  "  [some  words  lost] . 

"  Bring  her  out  for  punishment.  .  .  ." 

The  divine  messenger  of  the  gods,  lacerated  his  face  before  them. 
The  assembly  of  the  gods  was  full, 
the  Sun  came,  along  with  the  Moon  his  father. 
Weeping  he  spoke  thus  unto  Hea  the  king  : 
"  Ishtar  descended  into  the  earth  ;  and  she  did  not  rise  again  ; 
"  and  since  the  time  that  mother  Ishtar  descended  into  Hades, 
"the  bull  has  not  sought  the  cow,  nor  the  male  of  any  animal  the 
female. 

"  The  slave  and  her  master  [some  words  lostj 
"  The  master  has  ceased  from  commanding : 
"the  slave  has  ceased  from  obeying." 

Then  the  god  Hea  in  the  depth  of  his  mind  laid  a  plan  : 

he  formed,  for  her  escape,  the  figure  of  a  man  of  clay. 

"  Go  to  save  her.  Phantom  !  present  thyself  at  the  portal  of  Hades ; 

"  the  seven  gates  of  Hades  will  open  before  thee, 

"  Nin-ki-gal  will  see  thee,  and  be  pleased  with  thee. 

"  When  her  mind  shall  be  grown  calm,  and  her  anger  shall  be  worn  off, 

"  awe  her  with  the  names  of  the  great  gods  I 

"  Prepare  thy  frauds !     On  deceitful  tricks  fix  thy  mind  I 

"  The  chiefest  deceitful  trick  1  Bring  forth  fishes  of  the  waters  out  of 
an  empty  vessel ! 

"  This  thing  will  please  Nin-ki-gal : 

"  then  to  Ishtar  she  wiU  restore  her  clothing. 

"  A  great  reward  for  these  things  shall  not  fail. 

"Go,  save  her,  Phantom  1  and  the  great  assembly  of  the  people  shall 
crown  thee  1 


34  HYMN  TO  THE  GOD  MEKODACH. 

"  Meats,  the  first  of  the  city,  shall  be  thy  food  I 

"  Wine,  the  most  delicious  in  the  city,  shall  be  thy  drink  I 

"  To  be  the  Ruler  of  a  Palace,  shall  be  thy  rank ! 

"  A  throne  of  state,  shall  be  thy  seat ! 

"  Magician  and  Conjurer  shall  bow  down  before  thee  I " 

Nin-ki-gal  opened  her  mouth  and  spoke : 
to  Namtar  her  messenger  a  command  she  gave : 
"  Go,  Namtar !  clothe  the  Temple  of  Justice ! 
"  Adorn  the  images  f  and  the  altars  ? 
"  Bring  out  Anunnak !     Seat  him  on  a  golden  throne ! 
"Pour  out  for  Ishtar  the  waters  of  life,  and  let  her  depart  from  my 
dominions  I " 

Namtar  went ;  and  clothed  the  Temple  of  Justice ; 

he  adorned  the  images  and  the  altars ; 

he  brought  out  Anunnak ;  on  a  golden  throne  he  seated  him ; 

he  poured  out  for  Ishtar  the  waters  of  life,  and  let  her  go. 

Then  the  first  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her  —  the  first  garment 
of  her  body. 

The  second  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her  —  the  diamonds  of 
her  hands  and  feet. 

The  third  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her — the  central  girdle  of 
her  waist. 

The  fourth  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her  —  the  small  lovely 
gems  of  her  forehead. 

The  fifth  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her  —  the  precious  stones  of 
her  head. 

The  sixth  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her  —  the  earrings  of  her 
ears. 

The  seventh  gate  let  her  forth,  and  restored  to  her  —  the  great  crown 
on  her  head. 


HYMN   TO   THE   GOD   MERODACH. 

An  Akkadian  Psaxm.     (3000  e.g.?) 

Who  shall  escape  from  before  thy  power  ? 

Thy  will  is  an  eternal  mystery ! 

Thou  makest  it  plain  in  heaven  and  in  the  earth. 

Command  the  sea  and  the  sea  obeyeth  thee. 

Command  the  tempest  and  the  tempest  becometh  a  calm. 

Command  the  winding  course  of  the  Euphrates 

And  the  will  of  Merodach  shall  arrest  the  floods. 

Lord,  thou  art  holy  !     Who  is  like  unto  thee  ? 

Merodach  thou  art  honored  among  the  gods  that  bear  a  name. 


ADAM   AND   EVE   IN   PARADISE.  35 

ADAM   AND   EVE   IN   PARADISE. 

By  JOHN  MILTON. 

[John  Milton  :  English  poet ;  born  in  London,  December  9,  1608  ;  died  in 
London,  November  8,  1674.  He  was  graduated  from  Cambridge,  1629 ;  was 
Latin  secretary,  1649-1660.  He  became  totally  blind  in  1652.  At  the  Restora- 
tion he  was  proscribed  and  his  works  were  ordered  burnt  by  the  hangman ;  but 
after  a  time  he  was  left  unmolested  and  spent  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  quiet 
literary  labors.  "Paradise  Lost"  was  issued  in  1666,  "Paradise  Regained  "  in 
1671,  and  "Samson  Agonistes"  in  1671.  His  masque  of  "Comus"  was  pub- 
lished in  1634,  "Lycidas"  in  1637,  "L' Allegro"  and  "Penseroso"  in  1645. 
Among  his  prose  works  the  "  Areopagitica "  (1644),  advocating  the  freedom  of 
the  press,  his  work  on  Divorce,  and  his  "Defense  of  the  English  People"  (1664) 
are  most  famous.  His  sonnets  in  the  Italian  manner  are  among  the  finest  in  the 
English  language.] 

Beneath  him,  with  new  wonder,  now  he  views, 

To  all  delight  of  human  sense  exposed, 

In  narrow  room  Nature's  whole  wealth ;  yea,  more !  — 

A  Heaven  on  Earth :  for  blissful  Paradise 

Of  God  the  garden  was,  by  him  in  the  east 

Of  Eden  planted.     Eden  stretched  her  line 

From  Auran  eastward  to  the  royal  towers 

Of  great  Seleucia,  built  by  Gecian  kings, 

Or  where  the  sons  of  Eden  long  before 

Dwelt  in  Telassar.     In  this  pleasant  soil 

His  far  more  pleasant  garden  God  ordained. 

Out  of  the  fertile  ground  he  caused  to  grow 

All  trees  of  noblest  kind  for  sight,  smell,  taste ; 

And  all  amid  them  stood  the  Tree  of  Life, 

High  eminent,  blooming  ambrosial  fruit 

Of  vegetable  gold ;  and  next  to  life. 

Our  death,  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  grew  fast  by  — 

Knowledge  of  good,  bought  dear  by  knowing  ill. 

Southward  through  Eden  went  a  river  large, 

Nor  changed  his  course,  but  through  the  shaggy  hill 

Passed  underneath  ingulfed  ;  for  God  had  thrown 

That  mountain,  as  his  garden  mould,  high  raised 

Upon  the  rapid  current,  which,  through  veins 

Of  porous  earth  with  kindly  thirst  updrawn, 

Rose  a  fresh  fountain,  and  with  many  a  rill 

Watered  the  garden ;  thence  united  fell 

Down  the  steep  glade,  and  met  the  nether  flood, 

Which  from  his  darksome  passage  now  appears, 

And  now,  divided  into  four  main  streams^ 

■Rvms  diverse,  wandering  many  a  famous  realm 


36  ADAM  AND  EVE  IN  PARADISE. 

And  country  whereof  here  needs  no  account ; 
But  rather  to  tell  how,  if  Art  could  tell 
How,  from  that  sapphire  fount  the  crisped  brooks, 
Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold, 
With  mazy  error  under  pendent  shades 
Ran  nectar,  visiting  each  plant,  and  fed 
Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise,  which  not  nice  Art 
In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  Nature  boon 
Poured  forth  profuse  on  hill,  and  dale,  and  plain, 
Both  where  the  morning  sun  first  warmly  smote 
The  open  field,  and  where  the  unpierced  shade 
Imbrowned  the  noontide  bowers. 

Thus  was  this  place, 
A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view  : 
Groves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and  balm  ; 
Others  whose  fruit,  burnished  with  golden  rind, 
Hung  amiable  —  Hesperian  fables  true. 
If  true,  here  only  —  and  of  delicious  taste. 
Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flocks 
Grazing  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed, 
Or  palmy  hillock ;  or  the  flowery  lap 
Of  some  irriguous  valley  spread  her  store. 
Flowers  of  all  hue,  and  without  thorn  the  rose. 
Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 
Of  cool  recess,  o'er  which  the  mantling  vine 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant;  meanwhile  murmuring  waters  fall 
Down  the  slope  hills  dispersed,  or  in  a  lake. 
That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crowned 
Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 
The  birds  their  quire  apply ;  airs,  vernal  airs, 
Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 
The  trembling  leaves,  while  universal  Pan, 
Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance, 
Led  on  the  eternal  Spring.  .  .  . 

The  Fiend 
Saw  undelighted  all  delight,  all  kind 
Of  living  creatures,  new  to  sight  and  strange. 
Two  of  far  nobler  shape,  erect  and  tall, 
Godlike  erect,  with  native  honor  clad 
In  naked  majesty,  seemed  lords  of  all. 
And  worthy  seemed ;  for  in  their  looks  divine 
The  image  of  their  glorious  Maker  shone. 
Truth,  wisdom,  sanctitude  severe  and  pure  — 
Severe,  but  in  true  filial  freedom  placed, 
Whence  true  authority  in  men ;  though  both 


Adam  and  Eve 

From  an  engraving  by  Aug. 


ADAM  AND  EVE  IN   PARADISE.  37 

Not  equal,  as  their  sex  not  equal  seemed : 
For  contemplation  lie  and  valor  formed, 
For  softness  she  and  sweet  attractive  grace ; 
He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him. 
His  fair  large  front  and  eye  sublime  declared 
Absolute  rule ;  and  hyacinthine  locks 
Round  from  his  parted  forelock  manly  hung 
Clustering,  but  not  beneath  his  shoulders  broad ; 
She,  as  a  veil  down  to  the  slender  waist, 
Her  unadorned  golden  tresses  wore 
Disheveled,  but  in  wanton  ringlets  waved 
As  the  vine  curls  her  tendrils  —  which  implied 
Subjection,  but  required  with  gentle  sway, 
And  by  her  yielded,  by  him  best  received 
Yielded,  with  coy  submission,  modest  pride, 
And  sweet,  reluctant,  amorous  delay. 

Nor  those  mysterious  parts  were  then  concealed ; 
Then  was  not  guilty  shame.     Dishonest  shame 
Of  Nature's  works,  honor  dishonorable. 
Sin-bred,  how  have  ye  troubled  all  mankind 
With  shows  instead,  mere  shows  of  seeming  pure, 
And  banished  from  man's  life  his  happiest  life, 
Simplicity  and  spotless  innocence ! 
So  passed  they  naked  on,  nor  shunned  the  sight 
Of  God  or  Angel ;  for  they  thought  no  ill : 
So  hand  in  hand  they  passed,  the  loveliest  pair 
That  ever  since  in  love's  embraces  met  — 
Adam  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  bom 
His  sons ;  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve. 
Under  a  tuft  of  shade  that  on  a  green 
Stood  whispering  soft,  by  a  fresh  fountain  side, 
They  sat  them  down ;  and,  after  no  more  toil 
Of  their  sweet  gardening  labor  than  suffice 
To  recommend  cool  Zephyr,  and  make  ease 
More  easy,  wholesome  thirst  and  appetite 
More  grateful,  to  their  supper  fruits  they  fell  — 
Nectarine  fruits,  which  the  compliant  boughs 
Yielded  them,  sidelong  as  they  sat  reclined 
On  the  soft  downy  bank  damasked  with  flowers. 
The  savory  pulp  they  chew,  and  in  the  rind. 
Still  as  they  thirsted,  scoop  the  brimming  stream ; 
Nor  gentle  purpose,  nor  endearing  smiles    ' 
Wanted,  nor  youthful  dalliance,  as  beseems 
Fair  couple  linked  in  happy  nuptial  league, 
Alone  as  they. 


88  THE   MURDER  OF   ABEL. 

THE   MURDER  OF  ABEL. 

By  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

(From  "Abel.") 

[Count  Vittorio  Alfieri,  one  of  the  greatest  of  Italian  dramatists,  waa 
born  at  Asti,  in  Piedmont,  January  17,  1749.  Of  good  birth  and  independent 
means,  he  traveled  extensively  in  Europe,  and  after  the  successful  production 
of  his  fii-stplay,  "Cleopatra"  (1775),  devoted  himself  to  dramatic  composition. 
While  in  Florence  he  met  tlie  Countess  of  Albany,  wife  of  Trmce  Charles 
Edv?ard  Stuart,  and  passed  many  years  in  her  society  in  Alsace  and  Paris,  and 
at  the  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution  returned  to  Italy  and  died  at  Florence, 
October  8,  1803.  He  was  buried  in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce,  between  the 
tombs  of  Machiavelli  and  Michelangelo,  where  a  beautiful  monument  by  Canova 
covers  his  remains.  Alfieri  left  twenty-one  tragedies  and  six  comedies,  besides 
five  odes  on  American  Independence,  various  sonnets,  and  a  number  of  prose 
works.  Included  among  his  tragedies  are  "  Saul,"  "  Philip  II.,"  "  Orestes,"  and 
"  Mary  Stuart."] 

Envy,  Cain,  Death. 

Envy  — 

Why  tremble,  0  youth,  why  thus  fixedly  stare. 

While  fiercely  is  beating  thy  heart,  on  the  wound 
Which  is  made  doubly  sore  by  the  chilling  despair 

Of  the  snakes  which  entwine  it,  like  ivy,  around  ? 
O  deign,  if  thou'rt  fearless,  and  fain  wouldst  be  there, 

Where  joy  never  ending  is  certainly  found, 
0  deign  of  the  waters  transparent  to  think, 
Which  make  those  men  happy  supremely,  who  drink. 
Cain  — 

0  who  art  thou  who  in  these  accents  strange 
Addressest  me  ?     Are  there  upon  the  earth 
Men  that  we  know  not  of  ?     Remove  my  doubts, 

1  pray  thee :  tell  me  who  thou  art :  but  use 
A  language  that  doth  more  resemble  mine. 
That  I  more  easily  may  understand  it. 

Envy — 

Thou  son  of  Adam,  by  thy  speech  I  know  thee. 
'Twas  not  sufficient  for  thy  father  then 
To  get  himself  expelled,  with  so  much  shame, 
From  that  terrestrial  lovely  Paradise, 
Where  I  with  multitudes  of  others  dwell  ? 
For  him  'twas  not  enough?  he  furthermore 
Must  keep  his  own  son  in  deep  ignorance 
Of  the  great  good  thus  lost,  and  take  away 
The  slightest  chance  of  e'er  regaining  it  ? 


THE  MURDER  OF  ABEL.  39 

Cain  — 

What  dost  thou  say  ?     There  was  a  Paradise 

On  earth  ?  and  from  it  Adam  banished  was  ? 

And  he  from  his  own  son  so  vast  a  good 

Conceals,  and  hinders  ? 
Envy —  Harsh  and  unjust  father, 

He  envies  his  own  son  that  happiness, 

Of  which  he  was  unworthy.     There,  beyond 

The  banks  of  the  great  river,  I  was  standing 

With  this  my  mother  dear :  and  thence  I  saw 

(For  those  who  dwell  there  all  things  see  and  know) 

Thee  as  a  fugitive,  thy  father's  dwelling 

Leaving,  and  hither  coming  .  .  . 
Cain —  How  canst  thou 

This  know  of  me,  whilst  I  .  .  . 
Envy—  We're  not  alike. 

To  us,  the  happy  and  perpetual  dwellers 

Upon  that  further  shore,  all  things  are  easy. 

There,  matters  distant  or  not  understood, 

Or  things  impossible,  are  words  unknown : 

Brothers  and  sisters  numerous  are  we. 

And  sons  and  fathers ;  there  to  every  man 

Is  coupled  one  like  me ;  as  thou  hast  seen 

Eve  with  thy  father  live.  —  I  pity  took 

Upon  thy  ignorance ;  and  therefore  came 

As  far  as  this  to  meet  thee.     Do  but  try 

To  cross  the  limpid  waves,  and  thou'lt  become 

Straightway  like  me ;  and  there,  if  thou  so  will  it, 

Possessor  of  my  beauty  thou  mayst  be ; 

As  I  may,  if  I  please,  divide  with  thee 

Each  of  the  many  things  that  I  possess 

Collected  in  that  happy  place  together. 
Cain  — 

How  is  it  possible  that  my  dear  father. 

Who  loves  us  so,  could  cruelly  conceal 

So  vast  a  good  ?     Thou  with  thy  words  dost  wake 

Within  my  heart  a  contrast  wonderful. 

Thy  beauty  moves  me  much ;  the  flatt'ring  hope 

Of  thee ;  thy  sweet  discourse,  the  like  of  which 

I  never  heard  before ;  yes,  I  am  moved 

By  all  in  thee :  but  how  can  I  abandon 

Ungratefully  those  dear  ones  to  the  toil 

Of  ceaseless  labor,  whilst  I  pass  myself 

An  idle  life  at  ease  amid  delights  ? 


40  THE  MURDER  OF   ABEL. 

Envy  — 

Thou  thinkest  well.     Slave,  then,  and  suffer  thou, 
Fatigue  thyself,  and  sweat.     Meanwhile  another 
Will  occupy  thy  place  before  thee  there. 

Cain  — 

Another?  who? 

Envy  —  Thou'rt  very  blind. 

Cain  —  Perchance, 

Is  there  but  room  for  one  ? 

Envy  —  For  one  alone 

Of  Adam's  sons  a  passage  there  is  granted : 
Concealed  from  thee,  but  not  from  all  .  .  . 

Cain—  0  what, 

What  chill  again  pervades  me !  horrible 
The  doubt  I  feel  .  .  . 

Envy —  The  thing  is  manifest, 

Not  doubtful :  I  perceive  thy  every  thought : 
Yes,  Adam  to  his  Abel  all  revealed, 
But  hid  from  thee  ... 

Cain  —  What  hear  I ! 

Eyivy  —  And  the  place 

For  him  reserves  he. 

Cain  —  Madness !     That  thick  mist 

Which  so  obscured  my  eyesight  suddenly 
Has  disappeared  :  I  now  behold  the  source 
Of  that  unknown  and  indistinct  fierce  impulse, 
Which,  at  the  sight,  and  even  at  the  name 
Of  Abel,  thrilled  me  through,  from  time  to  time. 

Envy  — 

Thou  now  dost  know  it  all.     Only  take  care 

Lest  Abel  should  anticipate  thy  steps. 

As  soon  as  thou  hast  reached  the  other  shore, 

I'll  meet  thee,  and  be  thine :  but  I  may  not 

Go  with  thee  to  the  crossing :  and  meanwhile, 

To  strengthen  thee  in  thy  design,  observe 

What  I  will  do.  — Now,  mother,  just  to  give  him 

A  little  sample  of  our  happy  race. 

Which  he  will  find  beyond  those  waters,  say. 

Would  it  not  fitting  be  to  let  him  see 

The  sudden  apparition  of  a  fine 

Well-chosen  troop  of  them  ? 

Death  —  Do  as  thou  will'st. 

Dear  daughter. 

Envy  —  Thou  shalt  see,  Cain,  presently 

A  handsome  people,  and  harmonious  dances 


THE  MURDER  OF  ABEL.  ^j 

To  dulcet  notes  danced  nimbly,  which  thy  heart 
Will  ravish. -Now,  dear  brothers,  swiftly  come- 
Appear  as  rapidly  as  flies  my  thought 
IStnkes  her  foot  on  the  ground.     The  different  Choruses  of  must 
cians  and  dancers  immediately  appear  on  every  side 

Death,  Exvy,  Caix,  Chorxxs  of  Male  and  Female  Dancers;  Chokus 
of  Male  and  Female  Singers.  v^hobus 

Chorus. 

His  cheeks  shall  both  be  overflowed 
With  tears,  with  sweat  his  brow. 
To  whom  it  is  not  granted  now  ' 
Into  our  joyous  land  to  press : 
But  he  who  in  our  bright  abode 
His  happy  feet  can  plant. 
Has  written  down  in  adamant 
His  full  eternal  happiness. 

Right-hand  Chorus. 
In  this  drear  place  of  misery. 

How  sad  the  fate  of  hapless  man. 
Condemned  by  cruel  destiny 

To  earn  his  food  as  best  he  can! 

Left-hand  Chorus. 

The  man  who  here  doth  dwell,  we  know 
A  man  like  one  of  us  is  not :  ' 

He  has  been  struck  a  deadly  blow. 
Which  utterly  has  changed  his  lot. 

All. 
He  who  the  apple  tasted  ne'er, 
Shall  he  not  all  life's  pleasures  share? 

A  voice. 

He  shall  not  lose  them,  no,  no,  no.- 
Thou,  who  of  the  rigid 
Ignored  prohibition 
Nothing  dost  know; 
O  come  to  the  frigid 
Glad  stream  of  fruition, 
And  drown  there  each  woe. 


42  THE  MURDER  OF   ABEL. 

Man  shall  not  lose  anew 
The  rights  that  are  his  due. 

All. 
He  shall  not  lose  them,  no,  no,  no. 

A  woman's  voice  in  the  Chorus. 

Thou  son  of  Adam,  come  where  we 
Are  living  in  a  feast  eternal. 
Which  equaleth  the  life  supernal 

In  its  supreme  felicity. 

Thou  ne'er  hast  seen  the  sun's  rays  blend 

So  brilliantly  as  there ; 
Thou  ne'er  hast  seen  from  Heaven  descend 

Such  manna  sweet  and  fair. 
As  in  that  place  thou'lt  see : 

A  man's  voice. 
There  only  doth  the  stream  o'erflow 

With  milk  of  whitest  hue ; 
There  on  each  tree  and  hedge  doth  grow 
The  purest  honey  dew, 
Man's  nutriment  to  be. 

The  two  voices. 

Thou  son  of  Adam,  come  where  we 
Are  living  in  a  feast  eternal. 
Which  equaleth  the  life  supernal 

In  its  supreme  felicity. 

All. 
Thou  son  of  Adam,  come  where  we 
Are  living  in  felicity. 
Quick,  quick !     Make  haste !     Away ! 
If  thou  shouldst  long  delay. 
Another,  with  a  step  less  slow. 

Before  thee  will  arrive  there  soon. 

If  thou  dost  know  how  vast  the  boon, 
Thou  wilt  not  lose  it,  no,  no,  no. 

Death,  Cain,  Envy. 
Envy  — 

Do  thou  awake  from  out  thy  stupor,  Cain, 

Thou  hast  both  seen  and  heard :  then  naught  remains 

For  me,  but  as  a  pledge  of  faith,  to  give  thee 


THE   MURDER   OF   ABEL.  43 

My  hand.     Come,  take  it. 

[As  she  touches  his  hand,  she  disappears  with  her  mother, 

Cain. 
Cain—  Ah,  I  pray  thee,  stay  .  .  . 

—  What  frightful  chill  has  pierced  my  heart !  my  blood 

Appears  to  stagnate  there,  all  frozen  ...     0, 

What  dreadful  flame  has  now  succeeded  it ! 

I  follow  thee,  for  fear  that  villain  Abel 

Should  first  arrive  there. 

Cain  and  Abel  [turning  towards  the  river"]- 

jihel Cain !  what  is't  I  see  ? 

Cain  Irunning  towards  him  with  his  pickax]  — 

Ah,  traitor !  dost  thou  come  from  there  ?     I  soon 

Will  punish  thee. 
Abel  [flying  backwards]  —  Help,  mother,  help  me,  help ! 
Cain  [following  him,  and  disappearing  from  view]  — 

Fly  as  thou  mayst,  I'll  overtake  thee  soon. 
Cain,  Abel. 
Cain — 

Come,  villain,  come !  [Dragging  him  by  the  hair. 

Abel  —  0  my  dear  brother,  pity ! 

What  have  I  done  ?  .  .  . 
Cain  —  Come !  far  away  indeed 

From  that  much-longed-for  river  shalt  thou  breathe 

Thy  final  vital  breath. 
Abel —  Ah,  hear  thou  me ! 

My  brother,  do  thou  hearken ! 
Cain —  No,  that  good 

Which  was  my  due,  but  which  I  ne'er  received, 

Shall  ne'er  be  thine.     Perfidious  one,  behold. 

Around  thee  look ;  this  is  the  desert  waste. 

From  which  I  fled,  and  where  thou  leftest  me : 

Thy  last  looks  never  shall  behold  those  waters 

Which  thou,  in  thy  disloyal  thoughts,  didst  deem 

As  crossed  already :  here,  upon  this  sand. 

Thou  soon  shalt  lie  a  corpse. 
Abel—  But,  0  my  God! 

What  means  all  this  ?  at  least  explain  thy  words : 

I  understand  thee  not :  explain,  and  hear  me ; 

Thou  afterwards  mayst  slay  me  at  thy  will, 

But  hear  me  first,  I  pray. 
Cain —  Say  on. 

Abel  —  But  tell  me, 

In  what  have  I  offended  thee  ?  .  .  .    Alas ! 


44  THE  MURDER  OF   ABEL. 

How  can  I  speak  to  thee,  if  fierce  and  stern 
Thou  standest  o'er  me  ?  neck  and  nostrils  swollen ; 
Looks  full  of  fire  and  blood ;  thy  lips,  thy  face 
All  livid ;  whilst  thy  knees,  thine  arms,  thy  head 
Are  moved  convulsively  by  trembling  strange !  — 
Pity,  my  brother :  calm  thyself :  and  loosen 
Thy  hold  upon  my  hair  a  little,  so 
That  I  may  breathe. 

Cain  —  I  never  fancied,  Abel, 

That  thou  wouldst  be  a  traitor. 

Ahel —  I  am  not. 

My  father  knows  it ;  and  thou  too. 

Cain  —  My  father  ? 

Ne'er  name  him :  father  of  us  both  alike. 
And  just,  I  deemed  him,  and  I  was  deceived. 

Ahel  — 

What  sayest  thou  ?     Dost  doubt  his  love  ?  thou  scarce 
Hadst  gone  away  from  us  this  morning,  when, 
Anxious  for  thee,  with  mortal  sorrow  filled. 
My  father  straightway  sent  me  on  thy  track  .  .  . 


Cain 


Abel- 


Perfidious  ones,  I  know  it  all ;  to  me 
This  was  a  horrible,  undoubted  proof 
Of  my  bad  brother  and  my  still  worse  father. 
I  know  it  all ;  the  veil  has  fallen ;  the  secret 
Has  been  revealed  to  me :  and  I'm  resolved 
That  thou  shalt  ne'er  be  happy  at  my  cost. 

Cain,  by  that  God  who  both  of  us  created. 

And  who  maintains  us,  I  entreat  of  thee. 

Explain  thyself:  what  is  my  fault?  what  secret 

Has  been  revealed  to  thee  ?  upon  my  face. 

And  in  my  eyes,  and  words,  and  countenance, 

Does  not  my  innocence  reveal  itself  ? 

I  happy  at  thy  cost  ?     0,  how  could  Abel 

Be  happy  if  thou'rt  not  ?     Ah,  hadst  thou  seen  me, 

When  I  awoke,  and  found  thee  not  beside  me 

This  morning  !     Ah,  how  sorely  did  I  weep ! 

And  how  our  parents  wept !     The  livelong  day 

Have  I  since  then  consumed,  but  fruitlessly, 

In  seeking  thee  and  sadly  calling  thee. 

But  never  finding  thee ;  although  I  heard 

Thy  voice  in  front  of  me  from  time  to  time, 

In  the  far  distance  answering :  and  I 

Went  ever  further  on  in  search  of  thee, 


THE   MURDEK   OF   ABEL.  45 

Up  to  yon  river ;  over  whose  broad  waves 

I  feared  that  thou,  who  art  a  swimmer  bold, 

Hadst  crossed  .  .  . 
Cain  —  And  of  that  river  darest  thou, 

Foolhardy  one,  a  single  word  to  speak  ? 

I  veil  believe  thou  fearedst,  if  I  crossed  it, 

That  thou  wouldst  have  forever  lost  the  hope 

Of  crossing  it  thyself.     Thou  darest,  too. 

To  mingle  truth  and  falsehood  ?  and  assert 

That  I  replied  to  thee  ?     But  now  the  end 

Of  every  wicked  art  has  come :  in  vain 

Thou  soughtest  to  anticipate  my  steps : 

Thou  seest  that  I  have  caught  thee  just  in  time : 

Nor  river,  nor  the  light  of  heaven  shalt  thou 

E'er  see  again.     I'll  kill  thee  ;  fall  thou  down ! 
Abel— 

Keep  back  thy  ax !     0  do  not  strike  me !     See, 

I  fall  before  thee,  and  embrace  thy  knees. 

Keep  back  thy  ax,  I  pray  thee  !     Hear  thou  me : 

The  sound  of  this  my  voice,  in  yonder  fields. 

Has  soothed  thee  oftentimes,  when  much  incensed, 

Now  with  the  stubborn  clods,  now  with  the  lambs, 

But  thou  wast  ne'er  so  angry  as  thou'rt  now. 

Dear  brother  of  my  heart  .  .  . 
Cain  —  I'm  so  no  more. 

Ahel  — 

But  I  shall  ever  be  so :  thou  art  too : 

I  pledge  to  thee  my  innocence :  I  swear  it 

By  both  our  parents ;  I  have  never  heard 

One  word  about  this  river  ;  nor  can  fathom 

Thy  accusations. 
Cain  —  Can  there  be  such  malice. 

Such  craftiness,  at  such  a  tender  age  ? 

All  this  dissembling  makes  me  madder  still ; 

Vile  liar  .  .  . 
Ahel  —  What !  thou  call'st  thy  Abel,  liar  ? 

Cain  — 

Die  now. 
Ahel —  Embrace  me  first. 

Cain —  I  hate  thee. 

Ahel—  I 

Still  love  thee.     Strike,  if  thou  wilt  have  it  so ; 

I'll  not  resist ;  but  I  have  not  deserved  it. 
Cain  — 

—  And  yet,  his  weeping,  and  his  juvenile 


46  THE   MURDER  OF   ABEL. 

Candor,  which  true  appears,  the  sweet  accustomed 
Sound  of  his  voice,  restrain  nie :  and  my  arm 
And  anger  fall.  —  But,  shall  a  foolish  pity 
Rob  me  forever  of  my  property  ?  .  .  . 
Alas  !  what  to  resolve  ?  what  do  ? 

jlbel What  say'st  thou 

Apart  ?     Turn  towards  me  :  look  at  me  :  in  vain 
Thou  hid'st  from  me  thy  face :  amidst  thy  tierce 
And  dreadful  ravings,  from  thy  moistened  eye 
Gleamed  there  upon  me  just  one  passing  ray 
Of  love  fraternal  and  of  pity.     Take, 
I  pray  thee,  pity  on  my  tender  youth. 
And  on  thyself.     0  !  dost  thou  think  that  God 
Can  afterwards  take  pleasure  in  thy  prayers, 
Or  gifts,  if  with  the  blood  of  thine  own  brother 
He  sees  thee  dyed  ?     And  then  our  excellent 
Unhappy  mother,  wouldst  thou  rob  her  thus 
Of  both  her  sons  ?  for,  certainly,  if  thou 
Shouldst  slay  me,  thou  wouldst  never  dare  again 
To  show  thyself  before  her.     Ah,  just  think 
How  that  unhappy  one  can  live  without  us : 
Think  too  .  .  . 

Cain  —  Ah,  brother !  thou  dost  rend  my  heart : 

Rise,  then,  arise  :  I  pardon  thee  :  in  this 
Embrace  .  .  .     What  do  I  ?  and  what  .said  I  ?    Base  one, 
Thy  tears  are  but  a  juggle :  and  not  doubtful 
Thy  treason  is  ;  thou  dost  not  merit  pardon ; 
I  will  not  pardon  thee. 

Abel  —  What  see  I  ?     Fiercer 

Dost  thou  become  than  ever  ? 

Cain —  I  become 

What  I  should  be  to  thee.     Come  now  what  may ; 
The  good  denied  me,  none  shall  have  instead.  — 
No  more  of  pardon,  no  more  pity  ;  thou 
Hast  now  no  brother,  father,  mother  more. 
My  eye  is  dimmed  already  with  thick  blood  : 
I  see  a  monster  at  my  feet.     Now,  die ! 
What  holds  me  back  ?     AVhat  seizes  on  my  arm  ? 
What  voice  is  thundering  ? 

Abel —  God  sees  us. 

Cain—  God? 

Methinks  I  hear  Him  :  now  methinks  I  see  Him, 
Pursuing  me  in  fearful  wise :  already 
I  see  my  own  ensanguined  ax  fall  down 
Upon  my  guilty  head  with  crashing  sound ! 


THE   MURDER  OF   ABEL.  47 

Ahel  — 

His  senses  he  has  lost.     Sad  sight !     I  tremble  .  . . 

From  head  to  foot .  .  . 
Cain  —  Thou,  Abel,  do  thou  take 

This  ax ;  and  strike  with  both  thy  hands,  upon 

My  head.     Why  dost  thou  tarry  ?  now  behold, 

I  offer  no  defense :  be  quick,  and  slay  me  : 

Slay  me ;  for  in  no  other  way  canst  thou 

Escape  my  fury,  which  is  fast  returning : 

I  pray  thee  then,  make  haste. 
Ahel  —  What  do  I  hear  ? 

That  I  should  strike  thee  ?    Why,  if  I  still  love  thee 

As  much  as  ever  ?     Calm  thyself  :  become 

Thyself  again :  let's  both  our  father  seek  : 

He  waits  for  thee  .  .  . 
Cain  —  My  father  ?  to  my  father 

Go  now  with  thee  ?     I  understand  :  thyself 

Hast  thou  betrayed.     The  mention  of  his  name 

Fiercer  than  ever  wakens  all  my  rage. 

Once  more  then,  die  thou,  die.  \_Strikes  him. 

Ahel—  Alas!...     I  feel 

My  strength  depart ...     0  mother !  .  .  . 
Cain  —  What,  0  what 

Have  I  now  done  ?  his  blood  spurts  o'er  my  face ! 

He  falls ;  he  faints  .  .  .    Where  hide  myself  ?    O  Heavens ! 

What  have  I  done  ?     Accursed  ax,  begone 

Forever  from  my  hand,  my  eyes  .  .  .     What  hear  I  ? 

Alas !  already  doth  the  thund'ring  voice 

Of  God  upon  me  call  ...    0  where  to  fly  ? 

There,  raves  my  father  in  wild  fury  .  .  .     Here, 

My  dying  brother's  sobs  .  .  .     Where  hide  myself  ? 

I  fly.  [Flies. 

A1-, Abel  [dying"],  then  Adam. 

Ah  dreadful  pain !  .  .  .     0,  how  my  blood 
Is  running  down !  .  .  . 

Adam —  Already  towards  the  west 

The  sun  approaches  fast,  and  I  as  yet 
Have  found  them  not !     The  livelong  day  have  I 
And  Eve  consumed  in  searching  for  them  both, 
And  all  without  success  .  .  .     But  this  is  surely 
The  track  of  Abel :  I  will  follow  it.  [Advances. 

Ahel  — 

Alas  !  help,  help !  .  .  .     0  mother !  .  .  . 

Adam  —  0,  what  hear  I  ? 


48  THE  MURDER  OF  ABEL. 

Sobs  of  a  human  being,  like  the  wails 
Of  Abel !  .  .  .  Heavens  !  what  see  I  there  ?  a  stream 
Of  blood  ?  .  .  .     Alas  !  a  body  further  on  ?  .  .  . 
Abel !     My  son,  thou  here  ?  .  .  .     Upon  thy  body 
Let  me  at  least  breathe  forth  my  own  last  breath ! 

Abel  — 

My  father's  voice,  methinks  ...     0 !  is  it  thou  ?  .  . . 
My  eyes  are  dim,  and  ill  I  see  .  .  .    Ah,  tell  me, 
Shall  I  again  behold  .  .  .  my  .  .  .  darling  mother  ?  .  . . 

Adam  — 

My  son !  .  .  .  sad  day !  .  .  .  sad  sight !  .  .  .     How  deep 

and  large 
The  wound  with  which  his  guiltless  head  is  cloven  I 
Alas  !  there  is  no  remedy.     My  son. 
Who  gave  thee  such  a  blow  ?  and  what  the  weapon  ?  . . . 
0  Heavens !     Is't  not  Cain's  pickax  that  I  see 
Lying  all-bloody  there  ?  .  .  .     0  grief !  0  madness  1 
And  is  it  possible  that  Cain  has  slain  thee  ? 
A  brother  kill  his  brother  ?     I  myself 
Will  arm,  with  thy  own  arms ;  and  find  thee  out, 
And  with  my  own  hands  slay  thee.     0  thou  just 
Almighty  God,  didst  Thou  behold  this  crime, 
And  suffer  it  ?  breathes  still  the  murderer  ? 
Where  is  the  villain  ?     Didst  not  Thou,  great  God, 
Beneath  the  feet  of  such  a  monster  cause 
The  very  earth  to  gape  and  swallow  him 
In  its  profound  abyss  ?     Then,  'tis  Thy  will, 
Ah  yes !  that  by  my  hand  should  punished  be 
This  crime  irreparable :  'tis  Thy  will 
That  I  should  follow  on  the  bloody  track 
Of  that  base  villain  :  here  it  is :  from  me. 
Thou  wicked  Cain,  shalt  thou  receive  thy  death  .  . . 
0  God !     But  leave  my  Abel  breathing  still  .  .  . 

Abd  — 

Father !  .  .  .  return,  return  !  .  .  .     I  fain  would  tell  thee  .  .  . 

Adam  — 

My  son,  but  how  could  Cain  .  .  . 

Abel —  He  was  .  .  .  indeed  . . . 

Beside  himself :  ...  it  was  not  he  .  .  .     Moreover  .  . . 
He  is  thy  son  ...     0  pardon  him,  .  .  .  as  I  do  . . . 

Adam  — 

Thou  only  art  my  son.     Devotion  true  ! 
0  Abel !  my  own  image !  thou,  my  all !  .  .  . 
How  could  that  fierce  .  .  . 

Abel  —  Ah,  father ! . . .  tell  me  . . .  truly; 


THE  MURDER  OF   ABEL.  49 

Didst  thou  e'er  plan  ...  to  take  away  .  .  .  from  Cain,  .  .  . 
And  give  .  .  .  to  me  .  .  .  some  mighty  good,  .  .  .  which  lies 
Beyond  .  .  .'the  river  ? 

Adam  —  What  dost  mean  ?  one  son 

Alone  I  deemed  that  I  possessed  in  both. 

Abel- 
Deceived  .  .  .  was  Cain  then  ;  .  .  .  this  he  said  to  me  ,  .  . 
Ofttimes,  .  .  .  inflamed  with  rage  .  .  .     The  only  cause  .  .  . 
Was  this :  ...  he  had  ...  a  conflict  fierce  .  .  .  and  long  .  .  . 
Within  himself  ...  at  first ;  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  then  .  .  .  o'ercome. 
He    struck    me  .  .  .  and   then    fled  ...  —  But   now  .  .  .  my 

breath. 
Father,  ...  is  failing  .  .  .     Kiss  me  .  .  . 

Adam  —  He  is  dying  .  .  . 

0  God !  .  .  .     He  dies.  —  Unhappy  father !     How 
Has  that  last  sob  cut  off  at  once  his  voice 
And  life  as  well !  —  Behold  thee,  then,  at  last, 
Death  terrible  and  cruel,  who  the  daughter 
Of  my  transgression  art !     O  ruthless  Death, 
Is,  then,  the  first  to  fall  before  thy  blows 
A  guileless  youth  like  this  ?     'Twas  me  the  first, 
And  me  alone,  whom  thou  shouldst  have  struck  down  .  . , 
—  What  shall  I  do  without  ray  children  now  ? 
And  this  dear  lifeless  body,  how  can  I 
From  Eve  conceal  it  ?     Hide  from  her  the  truth  ? 
In  vain :  but,  how  to  tell  her  ?     And,  then,  where, 
Where  bury  my  dear  Abel  ?     0  my  God ! 
How  tear  myself  from  him  ?  —  But,  what  behold  I  ? 
Eve  is  approaching  me  with  weary  steps 
From  far !     She  promised  me  that  she  would  wait 
Beyond  the  wood  for  me  .  .  .     Alas !  — But  I 
Must  meet  her  and  detain  her ;  such  a  sight 
Might  in  one  moment  kill  her  .  .  .     How  I  tremble ! 
Already  she  has  seen  me,  and  makes  haste  .  .  . 

Eve,  and  Adam  [running  to  meet  her]. 
Adam  — 

Why,  woman,  hast  thou  come  ?  'tis  not  allowed 

Farther  to  go  :  return ;  return  at  once 

Unto  our  cottage ;  there  will  I  erelong 

Rejoin  thee. 
Eve  —  Heavens !  what  see  I  ?  in  thy  face 

What  new  and  dreadful  trouble  do  I  see  ? 

Hast  thou  not  found  them  ? 
Adam  —  No :  but,  very  soon  . . .. 

Do  thou  meanwhile  retrace  thy  steps,  I  pray  ... 


60  THE   MURDER  OF   ABEL. 

Eve  — 

And  leave  thee  ?  .  .  .     And  my  children,  where  are  they  ? 

But,  what  do  I  behold  ?  thy  vesture  stained 

With  quite  fresh  blood  ?  thy  hands,  too,  dyed  with  blood  ? 

Alas  !  what  is't,  my  darling  Adam,  say  ! 

Yet  on  thy  body  are  no  wounds  .  .  .     But,  what, 

What  is  the  blood  there  on  the  ground  ?  and  near  it 

Is  not  the  ax  of  Cain  ?  .  .  .  and  that  is  also 

All  soiled  with  blood  ?  .  .  .     Ah,  leave  me ;  yes,  I  must, 

I  must  approach ;  to  see  .  .  . 
Adam  —  I  pray  thee,  no  .  .  . 

Eve  — 

In  vain  .  .  . 
Adam  —  0  Eve,  stop,  stop  !  on  no  account 

Shalt  thou  go  farther. 
Eve  [pushing  her  way  forward  a  little^  — 

But,  in  spite  of  thee, 

From  out  thine  eyes  a  very  stream  of  tears 

Is  pouring !  .  .  .     I  must  see,  at  any  cost. 

The  reason  .  .  .     Ah,  I  see  it  now !  .  .  .  there  lies 

My  darling  Abel  ...     0  unhappy  I !  .  .  . 

The  ax  .  .  .  the  blood  ...  I  understand  .  .  . 
Adam  —  Alas  I 

We  have  no  sons. 
Eve  —  Abel,  my  life  .  .  .     'Tis  vain 

To  hold  me  back  .  .  .     Let  me  embrace  thee,  AbeL 
Adam  — 

To  hold  her  is  impossible :  a  slight 

Relief  to  her  immense  maternal  sorrow  .  .  . 
Eve  — 

Adam,  has  God  the  murderer  not  punished? 
Adam  — 

0  impious  Cain !  in  vain  thy  flight ;  in  vain 

Wilt  thou  conceal  thyself.     Within  thy  ears 

(However  far  away  from  me  thou  art) 

Shall  ring  the  fearful  echo  of  my  threats, 

And  make  thy  bosom  tremble. 
Eve  —  Abel,  Abel .  .  . 

Alas,  he  hears  me  not !  .  .  .  —  I  ever  told  thee, 

That  I  discerned  a  traitor's  mark,  yes,  traitor's, 

Between  Cain's  eyebrows. 
Adam —  Never  on  the  earth 

That  traitor  peace  shall  find,  security. 

Or  an  asylum.  —  Cain,  be  thou  accursed 

By  God,  as  thou  art  by  thy  father  cursed. 


WHO  WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH?  61 

WHO    WROTE   THE   PENTATEUCH? 

By  Rev.  A.  H.   SAYCE. 

(From  "Early  History  of  the  Hebrews.") 

[For  biographical  sketch,  see  p.  25.] 

It  is  clear  that  if  the  modern  literary  analysis  of  the  Penta- 
teuch is  justified,  it  is  useless  to  look  to  the  five  books  of  Moses 
for  authentic  history.  There  is  nothing  in  them  which  can  be 
ascribed  with  certainty  to  the  age  of  Moses,  nothing  which  goes 
back  even  to  the  age  of  the  Judges.  Between  the  Exodus  out 
of  Egypt  and  the  composition  of  the  earliest  portion  of  the 
so-called  Mosaic  Law  there  would  have  been  a  dark  and  illit- 
erate interval  of  several  centuries.  Not  even  tradition  could 
be  trusted  to  span  them.  For  the  Mosaic  age,  and  still  more 
for  the  age  before  the  Exodus,  all  that  we  read  in  the  Old 
Testament  would  be  historically  valueless. 

Such  criticism,  therefore,  as  accepts  the  results  of  "  the  lit- 
erary analysis  "  of  the  Hexateuch  acts  consistently  in  stamping 
as  mythical  the  whole  period  of  Hebrew  history  which  precedes 
the  settlement  of  the  Israelitish  tribes  in  Canaan.  Doubt  is 
thrown  even  on  their  residence  in  Egypt  and  subsequent  escape 
from  "the  house  of  bondage."  Moses  himself  becomes  a  mere 
figure  of  mythland,  a  hero  of  popular  imagination  whose  sep- 
ulcher  was  unknown  because  it  had  never  been  occupied.  In 
order  to  discredit  the  earlier  records  of  the  Israelitish  people, 
there  is  no  need  of  indicating  contradictions  —  real  or  other- 
wise—  in  the  details  of  the  narratives  contained  in  them,  of 
enlarging  upon  their  chronological  difficulties,  or  of  pointing 
to  the  supernatural  elements  they  involve ;  the  late  dates 
assigned  to  the  medley  of  documents  which  have  been  dis- 
covered in  the  Hexateuch  are  sufficient  of  themselves  to  settle 
the  question. 

The  dates  are  largely,  if  not  altogether,  dependent  on  the 
assumption  that  Hebrew  literature  is  not  older  than  the  age 
of  David.  A  few  poems  like  the  Song  of  Deborah  may  have 
been  handed  down  orally  from  an  earlier  period,  but  readers 
and  writers,  it  is  assumed,  there  were  none.  The  use  of  writ- 
ing for  literary  purposes  was  coeval  with  the  rise  of  the  mon- 
archy. The  oldest  inscription  in  the  letters  of  the  Phoenician 
alphabet  yet  discovered  is  only  of  the  ninth  century  B.C.,  and 


52  WHO  WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH? 

the  alphabet  would  have  been  employed  for  monumental  pur> 
poses  long  before  it  was  applied  to  the  manufacture  of  books. 
As  Wolf's  theory  of  the  origin  and  late  date  of  the  Homeric 
Poems  avowedly  rested  on  the  belief  that  the  literary  use  of 
writing  in  Greece  was  of  late  date,  so  too  the  theory  of  the 
analysts  of  the  Hexateuch  rests  tacitly  on  the  belief  that  the 
Israelites  of  the  age  of  Moses  and  the  Judges  were  wholly 
illiterate.  Moses  did  not  write  the  Pentateuch  because  he 
could  not  have  done  so. 

The  huge  edifice  of  modern  Pentateuchal  criticism  is  thus 
based  on  a  theory  and  an  assumption.  The  theory  is  that  of 
"  the  literary  analysis  "  of  the  Hexateuch,  the  assumption  that 
.a  knowledge  of  writing  in  Israel  was  of  comparatively  late 
date.  The  theory,  however,  is  philological,  not  historical. 
The  analysis  is  philological  rather  than  literary,  and  depends 
entirely  on  the  occurrence  and  use  of  certain  words  and 
phrases.  Lists  have  been  drawn  up  of  the  words  and  phrases 
held  to  be  peculiar  to  the  different  writers  between  whom  the 
Hexateuch  is  divided,  and  the  portion  of  the  Hexateuch  to  be 
assigned  to  each  is  determined  accordingly.  That  it  is  some- 
times necessary  to  cut  a  verse  in  two,  somewhat  to  the  injury 
of  the  sense,  matters  but  little ;  the  necessities  of  the  theory 
require  the  sacrifice,  and  the  analyst  looks  no  further.  Great 
things  grow  out  of  little,  and  the  mathematical  minuteness 
with  which  the  Hexateuch  is  apportioned  among  its  numerous 
authors,  and  the  long  lists  of  words  and  idioms  by  which  the 
apportionment  is  supported,  all  have  their  origin  in  Astruc's 
separation  of  the  book  of  Genesis  into  two  documents,  in  one 
of  which  the  name  of  Yahveh  is  used,  while  in  the  other  it  is 
replaced  by  Elohim. 

The  historian,  however,  is  inclined  to  look  with  suspicion 
upon  historical  results  which  rest  upon  purely  philological 
evidence.  It  is  not  so  very  long  ago  since  the  comparative 
philologists  believed  they  had  restored  the  early  history  of  the 
Aryan  race.  With  the  help  of  the  dictionary  and  grammar 
they  had  painted  an  idyllic  picture  of  the  life  and  culture  of 
the  primitive  Aryan  family  and  traced  the  migrations  of  its 
offshoots  from  their  primeval  Asiatic  home.  But  anthropology 
has  rudely  dissipated  all  these  reconstructions  of  primitive  his- 
tory, and  has  not  spared  even  the  Aryan  family  or  the  Asiatic 
home  itself.  The  history  that  was  based  on  philology  has  been 
banished   to  fairyland.     It  may  be  that  the  historical  results 


WHO  WROTE   THE  PENTATEUCH?  53 

based  on  the  complicated  and  ingenious  system  of  Hexateuchal 
criticism  will  hereafter  share  the  same  fate. 

In  fact,  there  is  one  characteristic  of  them  which  cannot  but 
excite  suspicion.  A  passage  which  runs  counter  to  the  theory 
of  the  critic  is  at  once  pronounced  an  interpolation,  due  to 
the  clumsy  hand  of  some  later  "Redactor."  Indeed,  if  we  are 
to  believe  the  analysts,  a  considerable  part  of  the  professedly 
historical  literature  of  the  Old  Testament  was  written  or 
^'redacted"  chiefly  with  the  purpose  of  bolstering  up  the 
ideas  and  inventions  either  of  the  Deuteronomist  or  of  the 
later  Code.  This  is  a  cheap  and  easy  way  of  rewriting  ancient 
history ;  but  it  is  neither  scientific  nor  in  accordance  with  the 
historical  method,  however  consonant  it  may  be  with  the 
methods  of  the  philologist. 

When,  however,  we  come  to  examine  the  philological  evi- 
dence upon  which  we  are  asked  to  accept  this  new  reading  of 
ancient  Hebrew  history,  we  find  that  it  is  wofully  defective. 
We  are  asked  to  believe  that  a  European  scholar  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  can  analyze  with  mathematical  precision  a  work 
composed  centuries  ago  in  the  East  for  Eastern  readers  in  a 
language  that  is  long  since  dead,  can  dissolve  it  verse  by  verse, 
and  even  word  by  word,  into  its  several  elements,  and  fix  the 
approximate  date  and  relation  of  each.  The  accomplishment 
of  such  a  feat  is  an  impossibility,  and  to  attempt  it  is  to  sin 
as  much  against  common  sense  as  against  the  laws  of  science. 
Science  teaches  us  that  we  can  attain  to  truth  only  by  the  help 
of  comparison;  we  can  know  things  scientifically  only  in  so 
far  as  they  can  be  compared  and  measured  one  with  another. 
Where  there  is  no  comparison  there  can  be  no  scientific  result. 
Even  the  logicians  of  the  Middle  Ages  taught  that  no  conclu- 
sion can  be  drawn  from  what  they  termed  a  single  instance. 
It  is  just  this,  however,  that  the  Hexateuchal  critics  have 
essayed  to  do.  The  Pentateuch  and  its  history  have  been 
compared  with  nothing  except  themselves,  and  the  results 
have  been  derived  not  from  the  method  of  comparison,  but 
from  the  so-called  "tact"  and  arbitrary  judgment  of  the  in- 
dividual scholar.  Certain  postulates  have  been  assumed,  the 
consequences  of  which  have  been  gradually  evolved,  one  after 
another,  while  the  coherence  and  credibility  of  the  general 
hypothesis  has  been  supported  by  the  invention  of  further 
subordinate  hypotheses  as  the  need  for  them  arose.  The 
"critical"  theory  of  the  origin  and   character  of  the  Hexa- 


54  WHO   WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH? 

teuch  closely  resembles  the  Ptolemaic  theory  of  the  universe  •, 
like  the  latter,  it  is  highly  complicated  and  elaborate,  coherent 
in  itself,  and  perfect  on  paper,  but  unfortunately  baseless  in 
reality. 

Its  very  complication  condemns  it.  It  is  too  ingenious  to 
be  true.  Had  the  Hexateuch  been  pieced  together  as  we  are 
told  it  was,  it  would  have  required  a  special  revelation  to  dis- 
cover the  fact.  We  may  lay  it  down  as  a  general  rule  in 
science  that  the  more  simple  a  theory  is,  the  more  likely  it  is 
to  be  correct.  It  is  the  complicated  theories,  which  demand 
all  kinds  of  subsidiary  qualifications  and  assistant  hypotheses, 
that  are  put  aside  by  the  progress  of  science.  The  wit  of  man 
may  be  great,  but  it  needs  a  mass  of  material  before  even  a 
simple  theory  can  be  established  with  any  pretense  to  scientific 
value. 

But  it  is  not  only  science,  it  is  common  sense  as  well,  which 
is  violated  by  the  endeavor  to  foist  philological  speculations 
into  the  treatment  of  historical  questions.  Hebrew  is  a  dead 
language  ;  it  is,  moreover,  a  language  which  is  but  imperfectly 
known.  Our  knowledge  of  it  is  derived  entirely  from  that 
fragment  of  its  literature  which  is  preserved  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  the  errors  of  copyists  and  the  corruptions  of  the  text 
make  a  good  deal  even  of  this  obscure  and  doubtful.  There 
are  numerous  words,  the  traditional  rendering  of  which  is  ques- 
tionable ;  there  are  numerous  others  in  the  case  of  which  it  is 
certainly  wrong ;  and  there  is  passage  after  passage  in  which 
the  translations  of  scholars  vary  from  one  another,  sometimes 
even  to  contradiction.  Of  both  grammar  and  lexicon  it  may 
be  said  that  we  see  them  through  a  glass  darkly.  Not  unfre- 
quently  the  reading  of  the  Septuagint — the  earliest  manuscript 
of  which  is  six  hundred  years  older  than  the  earliest  manuscript 
of  the  Hebrew  text  —  differs  entirely  from  the  reading  of  the 
Hebrew ;  and  there  is  a  marked  tendency  among  the  Hexa- 
teuchal  analysts  to  prefer  it,  though  the  recently  discovered 
Hebrew  text  of  the  book  of  Ecclesiasticus  seems  to  show  that 
the  preference  is  not  altogether  justified. 

How,  then,  can  a  modern  Western  scholar  analyze  with  even 
approximate  exactitude  an  ancient  Hebrew  work,  a'^d  on  the 
strength  of  the  language  and  style  dissolve  it  once  more  into 
its  component  atoms?  How  can  he  determine  the  relation  of 
these  atoms  one  to  the  other,  or  presume  to  fix  the  dates  to 
which  they  severally  belong  ?     The  task  would  be  impossible 


WHO   WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH?  56 

even  in  the  case  of  a  modern  English  book,  although  English 
is  a  spoken  language,  with  which  we  are  all  supposed  to  be 
thoroughly  acquainted,  while  its  vast  literature  is  familiar  to  us 
all.  And  yet,  even  where  we  know  that  a  work  is  composite, 
it  passes  the  power  of  man  to  separate  it  into  its  elements,  and 
deiine  the  limits  of  each.  No  one,  for  instance,  would  dream 
of  attempting  such  a  task  in  the  case  of  the  novels  of  Besant 
and  Rice ;  and  the  endeavor  to  distinguish  in  certain  plays  of 
Shakespeare  what  belongs  to  the  poet  himself  and  what  to 
Fletcher  has  met  with  the  oblivion  it  deserved.  Is  it  likely 
that  a  problem  which  cannot  be  solved  in  the  case  of  an  Eng- 
lish book  can  be  solved  where  its  difficulties  are  increased  a 
thousand  fold?  The  minuteness  and  apparent  precision  of 
Hexateuchal  criticism  are  simply  due,  like  that  of  the  Ptole- 
maic theory,  to  the  artificial  character  of  the  basis  on  which  it 
rests.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  philological  mirage  ;  it  attempts  the  im- 
possible, and  in  place  of  the  scientific  method  of  comparison, 
it  gives  us  as  a  starting  point  the  assumptions  and  arbitrary 
principles  of  a  one-sided  critic. 

Where  philology  has  failed,  archseology  has  come  to  our  help. 
The  needful  comparison  of  the  Old  Testament  record  with  some- 
thing else  than  itself  has  been  afforded  by  the  discoveries  which 
have  been  made  of  recent  years  in  Egypt  and  Babylonia,  and 
other  parts  of  the  ancient  East.  At  last  we  are  able  to  call  in 
the  aid  of  the  scientific  method,  and  test  the  age  and  character, 
the  authenticity  and  trustworthiness,  of  the  Old  Testament 
history  by  monuments  about  whose  historical  authority  there 
can  be  no  question.  And  the  result  of  the  test  has,  on  the 
whole,  been  in  favor  of  tradition,  and  against  the  doctrines  of 
the  newer  critical  school.  It  has  vindicated  the  antiquity  and 
credibility  of  the  narratives  of  the  Pentateuch ;  it  has  proved 
that  the  Mosaic  age  was  a  highly  literary  one,  and  that  con- 
sequently the  marvel  would  be,  not  that  Moses  should  have 
written,  but  that  he  should  not  have  done  so ;  and  it  has  un- 
dermined the  foundation  on  which  the  documentary  hypothesis 
of  the  origin  of  the  Hexateuch  has  been  built.  We  are  still, 
indeed,  only  at  the  beginning  of  discoveries;  those  made  dur- 
ing the  past  year  or  two  [1895-1896]  have,  for  the  student 
of  Genesis,  been  exceptionally  important ;  but  enough  has  now 
been  gained  to  assure  us  that  the  historian  may  safely  disregard 
the  philological  theory  of  Hexateuchal  criticism,  and  treat  the 
books  of  the  Pentateuch  from  a  wholly  different  point  of  view. 


56  WHO   WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH? 

They  are  a  historical  record,  and  it  is  for  the  historian  and 
archaeologist,  and  not  for  the  grammarian,  to  determine  their 
value  and  age.  To  determine  the  age  and  trustworthiness  of 
our  literary  authorities  is  doubtless  of  extreme  importance  to 
the  historian,  but  unfortunately  the  materials  for  doing  so  are 
too  often  absent,  and  the  fancies  and  assumptions  of  the  critic 
are  put  in  their  place. 

The  trustworthiness  of  an  author,  like  the  reality  of  the 
facts  he  narrates,  can  be  adequately  tested  in  only  one  way. 
We  must  be  able  to  compare  his  accounts  of  past  events  with 
other  contemporaneous  records  of  them.  Sometimes  these 
records  consist  of  pottery  or  other  products  of  human  industry, 
which  anthropology  is  able  to  interpret ;  often  they  are  the  far 
more  important  inscriptions  which  were  written  or  engraved  by 
the  actors  in  the  events  themselves.  In  other  words,  it  is  to 
archaeology  that  we  must  look  for  a  verification  or  the  reverse 
of  the  ancient  history  that  has  been  handed  down  to  us,  as  well 
as  of  the  credibility  of  its  narrators.  The  written  monuments 
of  the  ancient  East  which  belong  to  the  same  age  as  the  patri- 
archs or  Moses  can  alone  assure  us  whether  we  are  to  trust  the 
narrative  of  the  Pentateuch,  or  to  see  in  it  a  confused  medley  of 
legends,  the  late  date  of  which  makes  belief  in  them  impossible. 

As  has  been  said  above.  Oriental  archaeology  has  already  dis- 
closed sufficient  to  show  us  to  which  of  these  two  alternatives 
we  must  lean.  On  the  one  hand,  much  of  the  history  contained 
in  the  book  of  Genesis  has  been  shown,  directly  or  indirectly, 
to  be  authentic ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  new-fangled  theory  of 
the  composition  of  the  Hexateuch  has  been  decisively  ruled  out 
of  court. 

The  Tel  el-Amarna  tablets  have  shown  that  the  western 
Asia  conquered  by  the  Egyptian  kings  of  the  eighteenth  dynasty 
was  wholly  under  the  domination  of  Babylonian  culture.  All 
over  the  civilized  Oriental  world,  from  the  banks  of  the  Tigris 
and  Euphrates  to  those  of  the  Nile,  the  common  medium  of 
literary  and  diplomatic  intercourse  was  the  language  and  script 
of  Chaldaea.  Not  only  the  writing  material,  but  all  that  was 
written  upon  it,  was  borrowed  from  Babylonia.  So  powerful 
was  this  Babylonian  influence,  that  the  Egyptians  themselves 
were  compelled  to  submit  to  it.  In  place  of  their  own  singular 
and  less  cumbrous  hieratic  or  cursive  script,  they  had  to  com- 
municate with  their  Asiatic  subjects  and  allies  in  the  cuneiform 
characters  and  the  Babylonian  tongue.     Indeed,  there  is  evi- 


WHO    WROTE   THE   PENTATEUCH?  67 

dence  that  the  memoranda  made  by  the  official  scribes  of  the 
Pharaoh's  court,  at  all  events  in  Palestine,  were  compiled  in 
the  same  foreign  speech  and  syllabary.  That  the  Babylonian 
language  and  script  were  studied  in  Egypt  itself  we  know  from 
the  evidence  of  the  Tel  el-Amarna  tablets.  Among  them  have 
been  found  fragments  of  dictionaries  as  well  as  Babylonian 
mythological  tales.  In  one  of  the  latter  certain  of  the  words 
and  phrases  are  separated  from  one  another  in  order  to  assist 
the  learner. 

The  use  of  the  Babylonian  language  and  system  of  writing 
in  western  Asia  must  have  been  of  considerable  antiquity. 
This  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  the  characters  had  gradually 
assumed  peculiar  forms  in  the  different  countries  in  wbich 
they  were  employed,  so  that  by  merely  glancing  at  the  form  of 
the  writing  we  can  tell  whether  a  tablet  was  written  in  Pales- 
tine or  in  northern  Syria,  in  Cappadocia  or  Mesopotamia. 
The  knowledge  of  them,  moreover,  was  not  confined  to  the 
few.  On  the  contrary,  education  must  have  been  widely 
spread ;  the  Tel  el-Amarna  correspondence  was  carried  on,  not 
only  by  professional  scribes,  but  also  by  officials,  by  soldiers, 
and  by  merchants.  Even  women  appear  among  the  writers, 
and  take  part  in  the  politics  of  the  day.  The  letters,  too,  are 
sometimes  written  about  the  most  trivial  matters,  and  not  un- 
frequentl}^  enter  into  the  most  unimportant  details. 

They  were  sent  from  all  parts  of  the  known  civilized  world. 
The  kings  of  Babylonia  and  Assyria,  of  Mesopotamia  and 
Cappadocia,  the  Egyptian  governors  of  Syria  and  Canaan,  even 
the  chiefs  of  the  Bedawin  tribes  on  the  Egyptian  frontier,  who 
were  subsidized  by  the  Pharaohs'  government  like  the  Afghan 
chiefs  of  to-day,  all  alike  contributed  to  the  correspondence. 
Letters,  in  fact,  must  have  been  constantly  passing  to  and  fro 
along  the  highroads  which  intersected  Western  Asia.  From 
one  end  of  it  to  the  other  the  population  was  in  perpetual  lit- 
erary intercourse,  proving  that  the  Oriental  world  in  the  cen- 
tury before  the  Exodus  was  as  highly  educated  and  literary  as 
was  Europe  in  the  age  of  the  Renaissance.  Nor  was  all  this 
literary  activity  and  intercourse  a  new  thing.  Several  of  the 
letters  had  been  sent  to  Amenophis  III.,  the  father  of  the 
"  Heretic  King,"  and  had  been  removed  by  the  latter  from 
the  archives  of  Thebes  when  he  transferred  his  residence  to  his 
new  capital.  And  the  literary  intercourse  which  was  carried 
on  in  the  time  of  Amenophis  III.  was  merely  a  continuation  of 


58  WHO   WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH? 

that  which  had  been  carried  on  for  centuries  previously.  The 
culture  of  Babylonia,  like  that  of  Egypt,  was  essentially  literary, 
and  this  culture  had  been  spread  over  western  Asia  from  a 
remote  date.  The  letters  of  Khammu-rabi  or  Amraphel  to  his 
vassal,  the  king  of  Larsa,  have  just  been  recovered,  and  among 
the  multitudinous  contract  tablets  of  the  same  epoch  are  speci- 
mens of  commercial  correspondence. 

We  have,  however,  only  to  consider  for  a  moment  what  was 
meant  by  learning  the  language  and  script  of  Babylonia  in 
order  to  realize  what  a  highly  organized  system  of  education 
must  have  prevailed  throughout  the  whole  civilized  world  of 
the  day.  Not  only  had  the  Babylonian  language  to  be  acquired, 
but  some  knowledge  also  of  the  older  agglutinative  language 
of  Chaldsea  was  also  needed  in  order  to  understand  the  system 
of  writing.  It  was  as  if  the  schoolboy  of  to-day  had  to  add  a 
knowledge  of  Greek  to  a  knowledge  of  French.  And  the  sys- 
tem of  writing  itself  involved  years  of  hard  and  patient  study. 
It  consisted  of  a  syllabary  containing  hundreds  of  characters, 
each  of  which  had  not  only  several  different  phonetic  values, 
but  several  different  ideographic  significations  as  well.  Nor 
was  this  all.  A  group  of  characters  might  be  used  ideographi- 
cally  to  express  a  word,  the  pronunciation  of  which  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  sounds  of  the  individual  characters  of  which  it 
was  composed.  The  number  of  ideographs  which  had  to  be 
learned  was  thus  increased  fivefold.  And,  unlike  the  hiero- 
glyphs of  Egypt,  the  forms  of  these  ideographs  gave  no  assist- 
ance to  the  memory.  They  had  long  since  lost  all  resemblance 
to  the  pictures  out  of  which  they  had  originally  been  developed, 
and  consisted  simply  of  various  combinations  of  wedges  or  lines. 
It  was  difficult  enough  for  the  Babylonian  or  Assyrian  to  learn 
the  syllabary;  for  a  foreigner  the  task  was  almost  herculean. 

That  it  should  have  been  undertaken  implies  the  existence 
of  libraries  and  schools.  One  of  the  distinguishing  features  of 
Babylonian  culture  were  the  libraries  which  existed  in  the 
great  towns,  and  wherever  Babylonian  culture  was  carried  this 
feature  of  it  must  have  gone  too.  Hence  in  the  libraries  of 
western  Asia  clay  books  inscribed  with  cuneiform  characters 
must  have  been  stored  up,  while  beside  them  must  have  been 
the  schools,  where  the  pupils  bent  over  their  exercises  and  the 
teachers  instructed  them  in  the  language  and  script  of  the 
foreigner.  The  world  into  which  Moses  was  born  was  a  world 
as  literary  as  our  own. 


WHO    WROTE   THE   PENTATEUCH?  59 

If  western  Asia  were  the  home  of  a  long-established  literary 
culture,  Egypt  was  even  more  so.  From  time  immemorial 
the  land  of  the  Pharaohs  had  been  a  land  of  writers  and 
readers.  At  a  very  early  period  the  hieroglyphic  system  of 
writing  had  been  modified  into  a  cursive  hand,  the  so-called 
hieratic;  and  as  far  back  as  the  days  of  the  third  and  fifth 
dynasties  famous  books  had  been  written,  and  the  author  of  one 
of  them,  Ptah-hotep,  already  deplores  the  degeneracy  and  lit- 
erary decay  of  his  own  time.  The  traveler  up  the  Nile,  who 
examines  the  cliffs  that  line  the  river,  cannot  but  be  struck  by 
the  multitudinous  names  that  are  scratched  upon  them.  He 
is  at  times  inclined  to  believe  that  every  Egyptian  in  ancient 
times  knew  how  to  write,  and  had  little  else  to  do  than  to 
scribble  a  record  of  himself  on  the  rocks.  The  impression  is 
the  same  that  we  derive  from  the  small  objects  which  are  dis- 
interred in  such  thousands  from  the  sites  of  the  old  cities. 
Wherever  it  is  possible,  an  inscription  has  been  put  upon  them, 
which,  it  seems  taken  for  granted,  could  be  read  by  all.  Even 
the  walls  of  the  temples  and  tombs  were  covered  with  written 
texts;  wherever  the  Egyptian  turned,  or  whatever  might  be 
the  object  he  used,  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  avoid  the  sight  of 
the  written  word.  Whoever  was  born  in  the  land  of  Egypt 
was  perforce  familiarized  with  the  art  of  writing  from  the  very 
days  of  his  infancy. 

Evidence  is  accumulating  that  the  same  literary  culture 
which  thus  prevailed  in  Egypt  and  western  Asia  had  extended 
also  to  the  peninsula  of  Arabia.  .   .  . 

The  Exodus  from  Egypt,  then,  took  place  during  a  highly 
literary  period,  and  the  people  who  took  part  in  it  passed  from 
a  country  where  the  art  of  writing  literally  stared  them  in  the 
face  to  another  country  which  had  been  the  center  of  the  Tel 
el-Amarna  correspondence  and  the  home  of  Babylonian  literary 
culture  for  unnumbered  centuries.  Is  it  conceivable  that  their 
leader  and  reputed  lawgiver  should  not  have  been  able  to  write, 
that  he  should  not  have  been  educated  "in the  wisdom  of  Egypt," 
or  that  the  upper  classes  of  his  nation  should  not  have  been 
able  to  read  ?  Let  it  be  granted  that  the  Israelites  were  but  a 
Redawin  tribe  which  had  been  reduced  by  the  Pharaohs  to  the 
condition  of  public  slaves  ;  still,  they  necessarily  had  leaders 
and  overseers  among  them,  who,  according  to  the  State  regula- 
tions of  Egypt,  were  responsible  to  the  Government  for  the 
rest  of  their  countrymen,  and  some,  at  least,  of  these  leaders 


60  WHO  WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH? 

and  overseers  would  have  been  educated  men.  Moses  could 
have  written  the  Pentateuch,  even  if  he  did  not  do  so. 

Moreover,  the  clay  tablets  on  which  the  past  history  of 
Canaan  could  be  read  were  preserved  in  the  libraries  and 
archive  chambers  of  the  Canaanitish  cities  down  to  the  time 
when  the  latter  were  destroyed.  If  any  doubt  had  existed  on 
the  subject  after  the  revelations  of  the  Tel  el-Amarna  tablets, 
it  has  been  set  at  rest  by  the  discovery  of  a  similar  tablet  on 
the  site  of  Lachish.  In  some  cases  the  cities  were  not  destroyed, 
so  far  as  we  know,  until  the  period  when  it  is  allowed  that  the 
Israelites  had  ceased  to  be  illiterate.  Gezer,  for  example, 
which  plays  a  leading  part  in  the  Tel  el-Amarna  correspond- 
ence, does  not  seem  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  an  enemy 
until  it  was  captured  by  the  Egyptian  Pharaoh  and  handed 
over  to  his  son-in-law  Solomon.  As  long  as  a  knowledge  of 
the  cuneiform  script  continued,  the  early  records  of  Canaan 
were  thus  accessible  to  the  historian,  many  of  them  being 
contemporaneous  with  the  events  to  which  they  referred. 

A  single  archaeological  discovery  has  tlius  destroyed  the 
base  of  operations  from  which  a  one-sided  criticism  of  Old 
Testament  history  had  started.  The  really  strong  point  in 
favor  of  it  was  the  assumption  that  the  Mosaic  age  was 
illiterate.  Just  as  Wolf  founded  his  criticism  and  analysis  of 
the  Homeric  Hymns  on  the  belief  that  the  use  of  writing  for 
literary  purposes  was  of  late  date  in  Greece,  so  the  belief  that 
the  Israelites  of  the  time  of  Moses  could  not  read  or  write  was 
the  ultimate  foundation  on  which  the  modern  theory  of  the 
composition  of  the  Hexateuch  has  been  based.  Whether 
avowed  or  not,  it  was  the  true  starting  point  of  critical  skepti- 
cism, the  one  solid  foundation  on  which  it  seemed  to  rest.  The 
destruction  of  the  foundation  endangers  the  structure  which 
has  been  built  upon  it. 

In  fact,  it  wholly  alters  the  position  of  the  modern  critical 
theory.  The  onus  prohandi  no  longer  lies  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  defenders  of  traditional  views.  Instead  of  being  called 
upon  to  prove  that  Moses  could  have  written  a  book,  it  is  they 
who  have  to  call  on  the  disciples  of  the  modern  theory  to  show 
reason  why  he  should  not  have  done  so.  .  .  .  As  historians, 
we  are  bound  to  admit  the  antiquity  of  writing  in  Israel.  The 
scribe  goes  back  to  the  Mosaic  age,  like  the  lawgiver,  and  in 
this  respect,  therefore,  the  Israelites  formed  no  exception  to  the 
nations  among  whom  they  lived.     They  were  no  islet  of  illiter- 


WHO  WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH?  61 

ate  barbarism  in  the  midst  of  a  great  sea  of  literary  culture  and 
activity,  nor  were  they  obstinately  asleep  while  all  about  them 
were  writing  and  reading. 

There  was  one  period,  and,  so  far  as  we  know,  one  period 
only,  in  the  history  of  western  Asia,  when  the  literature  of 
Babylonia  was  taught  and  studied  there,  and  when  the  literary 
ideas  and  stories  of  Chaldtea  were  made  familiar  to  the  people 
of  Canaan.  This  was  the  period  of  Babylonian  influence  which 
ended  with  the  Mosaic  age.  With  the  Hittite  conquests  of  the 
fourteenth  century  B.C.,  and  the  Israelitish  invasion  of  Canaan, 
it  all  came  to  an  end.  The  Babylonian  story  of  the  Deluge, 
adapted  to  Palestine  as  we  find  it  in  the  Pentateuch,  must 
belong  to  a  pre-Mosaic  epoch.  And  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  identity  of  the  details  in  the  Babylonian  and  Biblical 
versions  could  have  remained  so  perfect,  or  that  the  Biblical 
writer  could  have  exhibited  such  deliberate  intention  of  con- 
troverting the  polytheistic  features  of  the  original,  if  he  had 
not  still  possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  cuneiform  script.  It  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  he  belonged  to  an  age  when  the  Phoeni- 
cian alphabet  had  taken  the  place  of  the  syllabary  of  Babylonia, 
and  the  older  literature  of  Canaan  had  become  a  sealed  book. 

But  if  so,  a  new  light  is  shed  on  the  sources  of  the  histori- 
cal narratives  contained  in  the  Pentateuch.  Some  of  them  at 
least  have  come  down  from  the  period  when  the  literary  culture 
of  Babylonia  was  still  dominant  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. So  far  from  being  popular  traditions  and  myths  first 
committed  to  writing  after  the  disruption  of  Solomon's  king- 
dom, and  amalgamated  into  their  present  form  by  a  series  of 
"  redactors,"  they  will  have  been  derived  from  the  pre-Mosaic 
literature  of  Palestine.  Such  of  them  as  are  Babylonian  in 
origin  will  have  made  their  way  westwards  like  the  Chaldsean 
legends  found  among  the  tablets  of  Tel  el-Amarna,  while  others 
will  be  contemporaneous  records  of  the  events  they  describe. 
We  must  expect  to  discover  in  the  Pentateuch  not  only  Is- 
raelitish records,  but  Babylonian,  Canaanitish,  Egyptian,  even 
Edomite  records  as  well. 

The  progress  of  archseological  research  has  already  in  part 
fulfilled  this  expectation.  "  Ur  of  the  Chaldees  "  has  been  found 
at  Muqayyar,  and  the  contracts  of  early  Babylonia  have  shown 
that  Amorites  —  or,  as  we  should  call  them,  Canaanites  —  were 
settled  there,  and  have  even  brought  to  light  such  distinctively 
Hebrew  names  as  Jacob-el,  Joseph-el,  and  Ishmael.     Even  the 


62  WHO   WROTE  THE  PENTATEUCH? 

name  of  Abram,  Abi-ramu,  appears  as  the  father  of  an  "  Amo- 
rite "  witness  to  a  contract  in  the  third  generation  before 
Amraphel.  And  Amraphel  himself,  along  with  his  contempo- 
raries, Chedor-laomer  or  Kudur-Laghghamar  of  Elam,  Ariocli 
of  Larsa,  and  Tid'al  or  Tudghula,  has  been  restored  to  the 
history  to  which  he  and  his  associates  had  been  denied  a  claim. 
The  "  nations  "  over  whom  Tid'al  ruled  have  been  explained, 
and  the  accuracy  of  the  political  situation  described  in  the 
fourteenth  chapter  of  Genesis  has  been  fully  vindicated.  Jeru- 
salem, instead  of  being  a  name  first  given  to  the  future  capital 
of  Judah  after  its  capture  by  David,  is  proved  to  have  been  its 
earliest  title  ;  and  the  priest-king  Melchizedek  finds  a  parallel 
in  his  later  successor,  the  priest-king  Ebed-Tob,  who,  in  the 
Tel  el-Armana  letters,  declares  that  he  had  received  his  royal 
dignity,  not  from  his  father  or  his  mother,  but  through  the 
arm  of  "the  mighty  king."  If  we  turn  to  Egypt,  the  archaeo- 
logical evidence  is  the  same.  The  history  of  Joseph  displays 
an  intimate  acquaintance  on  the  part  of  its  writer  with  Egyp- 
tian life  and  manners  in  the  era  of  the  Hyksos,  and  offers  the 
only  explanation  yet  forthcoming  of  the  revolution  that  took 
place  in  the  tenure  of  land  during  the  Hyksos  domination. 
As  we  have  seen,  there  are  features  in  the  story  which  suggest 
that  it  has  been  translated  from  a  hieratic  papyrus.  As  for 
the  Exodus,  its  geography  is  that  of  the  nineteenth  dynasty, 
and  of  no  other  period  in  the  history  of  Egypt. 

Thus,  then,  directly  or  indirectly,  much  of  the  history  con- 
tained in  the  Pentateuch  has  been  shown  by  archaeology  to  be 
authentic.  And  it  must  be  remembered  that  Oriental  archae- 
ology is  still  in  its  infancy.  Few  only  of  the  sites  of  ancient 
civilization  have  as  yet  been  excavated,  and  there  are  thou- 
sands of  cuneiform  texts  in  the  museums  of  Europe  and 
America  which  have  not  as  yet  been  deciphered.  It  was  only 
in  1887  that  the  Tel  el-Amarna  tablets,  which  have  had  such 
momentous  consequences  for  Biblical  criticism,  were  found;  and 
the  disclosures  made  by  the  early  contracts  of  Babylonia,  even 
the  name  of  Chedor-laomer  itself,  are  of  still  more  recent  dis- 
covery. It  is  therefore  remarkable  that  so  much  is  already  in 
our  hands  which  confirms  the  antiquity  and  historical  genuine- 
ness of  the  Pentateuchal  narratives  ;  and  it  raises  the  presump- 
tion that  with  the  advance  of  our  knowledge  will  come  further 
confirmations  of  the  Biblical  story.  At  any  rate,  the  historian's 
path  is  clear  ;   the  Pentateuch  has  been  tested  by  the  compara- 


WHO  WROTE  THE   PENTATEUCH?  63 

live  method  of  science,  and  has  stood  the  test.  It  contains 
history,  and  must  be  dealt  with  accordingly  like  other  histori- 
cal works.  The  philological  theory  with  its  hair-splitting 
distinctions,  its  Priestly  Code  and  "redactors,"  must  be  put 
aside,  with  all  the  historical  consequences  it  involves. 

But  it  does  not  follow  that  because  the  philological  theory 
is  untenable,  all  inquiries  into  the  character  and  sources  of  the 
Pentateuch  are  waste  of  time.  The  philological  theory  has 
failed  because  it  has  attempted  to  build  up  a  vast  superstruc- 
ture on  very  imperfect  and  questionable  materials  ;  because,  in 
short,  it  has  attempted  to  attain  historical  results  without  the 
use  of  the  historical  method.  But  no  one  can  study  the  Penta- 
teuch in  the  light  of  other  ancient  works  of  a  similar  kind  with- 
out perceiving  that  it  is  a  compilation,  and  that  its  author  — 
or  authors  —  has  made  use  of  a  large  variety  of  older  materials. 

If  the  Pentateuch  was  originally  compiled  in  the  Mosaic 
age,  it  must  have  undergone  the  fate  of  the  Egyptian  Book  of 
the  Dead,  and  been  enlarged  by  subsequent  additions.  Inser- 
tions and  interpolations  must  have  found  their  way  into  it  as 
new  editions  of  it  were  made.  That  such  was  the  case  there 
is  indirect  testimony.  On  the  one  hand  the  text  of  the  pro- 
phetical books  was  treated  in  a  similar  manner,  additions  and 
modifications  being  made  in  it  from  time  to  time  by  the  prophet 
or  his  successors  in  order  to  adapt  it  to  new  political  or  religious 
circumstances.  .  .  .  On  the  other  hand,  a  long-established 
Jewish  tradition,  which  has  found  its  way  into  the  Second 
Book  of  Esdras  (xiv.  21-26),  makes  Ezra  rewrite  or  edit  the 
books  of  Moses.  There  is  no  reason  to  question  the  substantial 
truth  of  the  tradition  :  Ezra  was  the  restorer  of  the  old  paths, 
and  the  Pentateuch  may  well  have  taken  its  present  shape 
from  him.  If  so,  we  need  not  be  surprised  if  we  find  here  and 
there  in  it  echoes  of  the  Babylonish  captivity. 

Side  by  side  with  materials  derived  from  written  sources, 
the  book  of  Genesis  contains  narratives  which,  at  all  events 
in  the  first  instance,  must  have  resembled  the  traditions  and 
poems  orally  recited  in  Arab  lands,  and  commemorating  the 
heroes  and  forefathers  of  the  tribe.  Thus  there  are  two  Abra- 
hams :  the  one  an  Abraham  who  has  been  born  in  one  of  the 
centers  of  Babylonian  civilization,  who  is  the  ally  of  Amorite 
chieftains,  whose  armed  followers  overthrow  the  rear  guard  of 
the  Elaraite  army,  and  whom  the  Hittites  of  Hebron  address 
as  "  a  mighty  prince  "  ;   the  other  is  an  Abraham  of  the  Beda- 


64  WHO  WROTE   THE   PEXTATEUCH? 

win  camp-fire,  a  nomad  whose  habits  are  those  of  the  rude 
independence  of  the  desert,  whose  wife  kneads  the  bread  while 
he  himself  kills  the  calf  with  which  his  guests  are  entertained. 
It  is  true  that  in  actual  Oriental  life  the  simplicity  of  the  desert 
and  the  wealth  and  culture  of  the  town  may  be  found  combined 
in  the  same  person  ;  that  in  modern  Egypt  Arab  shekhs  may 
still  be  met  with  who  thus  live  like  wild  Bedawin  during  one 
part  of  the  year,  and  as  rich  and  civilized  townsmen  during 
another  part  of  it  ;  while  in  the  last  century  a  considerable 
portion  of  upper  Egypt  was  governed  by  Bedawin  emirs,  who 
realized  in  their  own  persons  that  curious  duality  of  life  and 
manners  which  to  us  Westerns  appears  so  strange.  But  it  is 
also  true  that  the  spirit  and  tone  of  the  narratives  in  Genesis 
differ  along  with  the  character  ascribed  in  them  to  the  patri- 
arch :  we  find  in  them  not  only  the  difference  between  the 
guest  of  the  Egyptian  Pharaoh  and  the  entertainer  of  the 
angels,  but  also  a  difference  in  the  point  of  view.  The  one 
speaks  to  us  of  literary  culture,  the  other  of  the  simple  circle 
of  wandering  shepherds  to  whose  limited  experience  the  story- 
teller has  to  appeal.  The  story  may  be  founded  on  fact ;  it 
may  be  substantially  true  ;  but  it  has  been  colored  by  the 
surroundings  in  which,  it  has  grown  up,  and  archaeological 
proof  of  its  historical  character  can  never  be  forthcoming.  At 
most,  it  can  be  shown  to  be  true  to  the  time  and  place  in  which 
its  scene  is  laid. 

Such,  then,  are  the  main  results  of  the  application  of  the 
archaeological  test  to  the  books  of  the  Pentateuch,  The 
philological  theory,  with  its  minute  and  mathematically  exact 
analysis,  is  brushed  aside ;  it  is  as  little  in  harmony  with 
archaeology  as  it  is  with  common  sense.  The  Pentateuch 
substantially  belongs  to  the  Mosaic  age,  and  may  therefore  be 
accepted  as,  in  the  bulk,  the  work  of  Moses  himself.  But  it 
is  a  composite  work ;  has  passed  through  many  editions ;  is  full 
of  interpolations,  lengthy  and  otherwise.  But  in  order  to  dis- 
cover the  interpolations,  or  to  determine  the  written  documents 
that  have  been  used,  we  must  have  recourse  to  the  historical 
method  and  the  facts  of  archaeology.  The  archaeological  evi- 
dence, however,  is  already  sufficient  for  the  presumption  that, 
where  it  fails  us,  the  text  is  nevertheless  ancient,  and  the  nar- 
rative historical  —  a  presumption,  it  will  be  noticed,  the  exact 
contrary  of  that  in  which  the  Hexateuchal  theory  has  landed 
its  disciples. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  66 

THE  LEGEND   OF  JUBAL. 

By  GEORGE  EUOT. 

[George  Eliot,  pseudonym  of  Mrs.  Marian  Evans  Cross :  A  famous  English 
novelist;  born  in  Warwickshire,  England,  November  22,  1819.  After  the  death 
of  her  father  (1849)  she  settled  in  London,  where  she  became  assistant  editor  of 
the  Westminster  Review  (1851).  In  1854  she  formed  a  union  with  George  Henry 
Lewes,  and  after  his  death  married,  in  1880,  John  Walter  Cross.  "  Scenes  of 
Clerical  Life  "  first  established  her  reputation  as  a  writer,  and  was  followed  by 
the  novels  "  Adam  Bede,"  "The  Mill  on  the  Floss,"  "  Silas  Marner,"  "  Rom- 
ola,"  "Felix  Holt,"  " Middlemarch,"  and  "Daniel  Deronda."  Among  her 
other  works  may  be  mentioned  "  The  Spanish  Gypsy,"  a  drama,  and  the  poems 
"Agatha,"  "The  Legend  of  Jubal,"  and  "  Armgart."] 

When  Cain  was  driven  from  Jehovah's  land 

He  wandered  eastward,  seeking  some  far  strand 

Ruled  by  kind  gods  who  asked  no  offerings 

Save  pure  field  fruits,  as  aromatic  things, 

To  feed  the  subtler  sense  of  frames  divine 

That  lived  on  fragrance  for  their  food  and  wine : 

Wild  joyous  gods,  who  winked  at  faults  and  folly, 

And  could  be  pitiful  and  melancholy. 

He  never  had  a  doubt  that  such  gods  were ; 

He  looked  within,  and  saw  them  mirrored  there. 

Some  think  he  came  at  last  to  Tartary, 

And  some  to  Ind;  but,  howsoe'er  it  be. 

His  staff  he  planted  where  sweet  waters  ran, 

And  in  that  home  of  Cain  the  Arts  began. 

Man's  life  was  spacious  in  the  early  world : 

It  paused,  like  some  slow  ship  with  sail  unfurled 

Waiting  in  seas  by  scarce  a  wavelet  curled ; 

Beheld  the  slow  star  paces  of  the  skies. 

And  grew  from  strength  to  strength  through  centuries ; 

Saw  infant  trees  fill  out  their  giant  limbs. 

And  heard  a  thousand  times  the  sweet  bird's  marriage  hymns. 

In  Cain's  young  city  none  had  heard  of  Death 
Save  him,  the  founder ;  and  it  was  his  faith 
That  here,  away  from  harsh  Jehovah's  law, 
Man  was  immortal,  since  no  halt  or  flaw 
In  Cain's  own  frame  betrayed  six  hundred  years, 
But  dark  as  pines  that  autumn  never  sears 
His  locks  thronged  backward  as  he  ran,  his  frame 
Kose  like  the  orb^d  sun  each  morn  the  same, 


66  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

Lake-mirrored  to  his  gaze ;  and  that  red  brand, 
The  scorching  impress  of  Jehovah's  hand, 
Was  still  clear-edged  to  his  unwearied  eye, 
Its  secret  firm  in  time-fraught  memory. 
He  said,  "  My  happy  offspring  shall  not  know 
That  the  red  life  from  out  a  man  may  flow- 
When  smitten  by  his  brother."     True,  his  race 
Bore  each  one  stamped  upon  his  new-born  face 
A  copy  of  the  brand  no  whit  less  clear ; 
But  every  mother  held  that  little  copy  dear. 

Thus  generations  in  glad  idlesse  throve. 

Nor  hunted  prey,  nor  with  each  other  strove ; 

For  clearest  springs  were  plenteous  in  the  land, 

And  gourds  for  cups ;  the  ripe  fruits  sought  the  hand^ 

Bending  the  laden  boughs  with  fragrant  gold ; 

And  for  their  roofs  and  garments  wealth  imtold 

Lay  everywhere  in  grasses  and  broad  leaves : 

They  labored  gently,  as  a  maid  who  weaves 

Her  hair  in  mimic  mats,  and  pauses  oft 

And  strokes  across  her  palm  the  tresses  soft, 

Then  peeps  to  watch  the  poised  butterfly, 

Or  little  burdened  ants  that  homeward  hie. 

Time  was  but  leisure  to  their  lingering  thought, 

There  was  no  need  for  haste  to  finish  aught ; 

But  sweet  beginnings  were  repeated  still 

Like  infant  babblings  that  no  task  fulfill ; 

For  love,  that  loved  not  change,  constrained  the  simple  wilL 

Till,  hurling  stones  in  mere  athletic  joy. 
Strong  Lamech  struck  and  killed  his  fairest  boy. 
And  tried  to  wake  him  with  the  tenderest  cries. 
And  fetched  and  held  before  the  glazed  eyes 
The  things  they  best  had  loved  to  look  upon ; 
But  never  glance  or  smile  or  sigh  he  won. 
The  generations  stood  around  those  twain 
Helplessly  gazing,  till  their  father  Cain 
Parted  the  press,  and  said :  "  He  will  not  wakej 
This  is  the  endless  sleep,  and  we  must  make 
A  bed  deep  down  for  him  beneath  the  sod ; 
For  know,  my  sons,  there  is  a  mighty  God 
Angry  with  all  man's  race,  but  most  with  me. 
I  fled  from  out  His  land  in  vain !  —  'tis  He 
Who  came  and  slew  the  lad,  for  He  has  found 
This  home  of  ours,  and  we  shall  all  be  bound 


tHE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  67 

By  the  harsh  bands  of  His  most  cruel  will, 

Which  any  moment  may  some  dear  one  kill. 

Nay,  though  we  live  for  countless  moons,  at  last 

We  and  all  ours  shall  die  like  summers  past. 

This  is  Jehovah's  will,  and  He  is  strong ; 

I  thought  the  way  I  traveled  was  too  long 

For  Him  to  follow  me :  my  thought  was  vain ! 

He  walks  unseen,  but  leaves  a  track  of  pain, 

Pale  Death  His  footprint  is,  and  He  will  come  again!*' 

A.nd  a  new  spirit  from  that  hour  came  o'er 

The  race  of  Cain :  soft  idlesse  was  no  more, 

But  even  the  sunshine  had  a  heart  of  care, 

Smiling  with  hidden  dread  —  a  mother  fair 

Who  folding  to  her  breast  a  dying  child 

Beams  with  feigned  joy  that  but  makes  sadness  mild. 

Death  was  now  lord  of  Life,  and  at  his  word 

Time,  vague  as  air  before,  new  terrors  stirred. 

With  measured  wing  now  audibly  arose 

Throbbing  through  all  things  to  some  unknown  close. 

Now  glad  Content  by  clutching  Haste  was  torn. 

And  Work  grew  eager,  and  Device  was  born. 

It  seemed  the  light  was  never  loved  before. 

Now  each  man  said,  "  'Twill  go  and  come  no  more." 

No  budding  branch,  no  pebble  from  the  brook, 

No  form,  no  shadow,  but  new  dearness  took 

From  the  one  thought  that  life  must  have  an  end ; 

And  the  last  parting  now  began  to  send 

Diffusive  dread  through  love  and  wedded  bliss, 

Thrilling  them  into  finer  tenderness. 

Then  Memory  disclosed  her  face  divine. 

That  like  the  calm  nocturnal  lights  doth  shine 

Within  the  soul,  and  shows  the  sacred  graves. 

And  shows  the  presence  that  no  sunlight  craves. 

No  space,  no  warmth,  but  moves  among  them  all ; 

Gone  and  yet  here,  and  coming  at  each  call. 

With  ready  voice  and  eyes  that  understand, 

And  lips  that  ask  a  kiss,  and  dear  responsive  hand. 

Thus  to  Cain's  race  death  was  tear-watered  seed 

Of  various  life  and  action-shaping  need. 

But  chief  the  sons  of  Lamech  felt  the  stings 

Of  new  ambition,  and  the  force  that  springs 

In  passion  beating  on  the  shores  of  fate. 

They  said,  "  There  comes  a  night  when  all  too  late 


68  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

The  mind  shall  long  to  prompt  the  achieving  hand, 

The  eager  thought  behind  closed  portals  stand, 

And  the  last  wishes  to  the  mute  lips  press 

Buried  ere  death  in  silent  helplessness. 

Then  while  the  soul  its  way  with  sound  can  cleave, 

And  while  the  arm  is  strong  to  strike  and  heave, 

Let  soul  and  arm  give  shape  that  will  abide 

And  rule  above  our  graves,  and  power  divide 

With  that  great  god  of  day,  whose  rays  must  bend 

As  we  shall  make  the  moving  shadows  tend. 

Come,  let  us  fashion  acts  that  are  to  be. 

When  we  shall  lie  in  darkness  silently. 

As  our  young  brother  doth,  whom  yet  we  see 

Fallen  and  slain,  but  reigning  in  our  will 

By  that  one  image  of  him  pale  and  still." 

For  Lamech's  sons  were  heroes  of  their  race : 

Jabal,  the  eldest,  bore  upon  his  face 

The  look  of  that  calm  river  god,  the  Nile, 

Mildly  secure  in  power  that  needs  not  guile. 

But  Tubal-Cain  was  restless  as  the  fire 

That  glows  and  spreads  and  leaps  from  high  to  higher 

Where'er  is  aught  to  seize  or  to  subdue ; 

Strong  as  a  storm  he  lifted  or  o'erthrew. 

His  urgent  limbs  like  rounded  granite  grew. 

Such  granite  as  the  plunging  torrent  wears 

And  roaring  rolls  around  through  countless  years. 

But  strength  that  still  on  movement  must  be  fed, 

Inspiring  thought  of  change,  devices  bred. 

And  urged  his  mind  through  earth  and  air  to  rove 

For  force  that  he  could  conquer  if  he  strove. 

For  lurking  forms  that  might  new  tasks  fulfill 

And  yield  unwilling  to  his  stronger  will. 

Such  Tubal-Cain.     But  Jubal  had  a  frame 

Fashioned  to  finer  senses,  which  became 

A  yearning  for  some  hidden  soul  of  things. 

Some  outward  touch  complete  on  inner  springs 

That  vaguely  moving  bred  a  lonely  pain, 

A  want  that  did  but  stronger  grow  with  gain 

Of  all  good  else,  as  spirits  might  be  sad 

For  lack  of  speech  to  tell  us  they  are  glad. 

Now  Jabal  learned  to  tame  the  lowing  kine, 
And  from  their  udders  drew  the  snow-white  wine 
That  stirs  the  innocent  joy,  and  makes  the  stream 


THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  69 

Of  elemental  life  with  fullness  teem ; 

The  star-browed  calves  he  nursed  with  feeding  hand, 

And  sheltered  them,  till  all  the  little  band 

Stood  mustered  gazing  at  the  sunset  way 

Whence  he  would  come  with  store  at  close  of  day. 

He  soothed  the  silly  sheep  with  friendly  tone 

And  reared  their  staggering  lambs  that  older  grown. 

Followed  his  steps  with  sense-taught  memory  ; 

Till  he,  their  shepherd,  could  their  leader  be 

And  guide  them  through  the  pastures  as  he  would. 

With  sway  that  grew  from  ministry  of  good. 

He  spread  his  tents  upon  the  grassy  plain 

Which,  eastward  widening  like  the  open  main. 

Showed  the  first  whiteness  'neath  the  morning  star ; 

Near  him  his  sister,  deft,  as  women  are, 

Plied  her  quick  skill  in  sequence  to  his  thought 

Till  the  hid  treasures  of  the  milk  she  caught 

Revealed  like  pollen  'mid  the  petals  white, 

The  golden  pollen,  virgin  to  the  light. 

Even  the  she-wolf  with  young,  on  rapine  bent. 

He  caught  and  tethered  in  his  mat-walled  tent, 

And  cherished  all  her  little  sharp-nosed  young 

Till  the  small  race  with  hope  and  terror  clung 

About  his  footsteps,  till  each  new-reared  brood. 

Remoter  from  the  memories  of  the  wood, 

More  glad  discerned  their  common  home  with  man. 

This  was  the  work  of  Jabal :  he  began 

The  pastoral  life,  and,  sire  of  joys  to  be. 

Spread  the  sweet  ties  that  bind  the  family 

O'er  dear  dumb  souls  that  thrilled  at  man's  caress, 

And  shared  his  pains  with  patient  helpfulness. 

But  Tubal-Cain  had  caught  and  yoked  the  fire. 
Yoked  it  with  stones  that  bent  the  flaming  spire 
And  made  it  roar  in  prisoned  servitude 
Within  the  furnace,  till  with  force  subdued 
It  changed  all  forms  he  willed  to  work  upon. 
Till  hard  from  soft,  and  soft  from  hard,  he  won. 
The  pliant  clay  he  molded  as  he  would. 
And  laughed  with  joy  when  'mid  the  heat  it  stood 
Shaped  as  his  hand  had  chosen,  while  the  mass 
That  from  his  hold,  dark,  obstinate,  would  pass. 
He  drew  all  glowing  from  the  busy  heat. 
All  breathing  as  with  life  that  he  could  beat 
With  thundering  hammer,  making  it  obey 


to  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

His  will  creative,  like  the  pale  soft  clay. 

Each  day  he  wrought  and  better  than  he  planned, 

Shape  breeding  shape  beneath  his  restless  hand. 

(The  soul  without  still  helps  the  soul  within, 

And  its  deft  magic  ends  what  we  begin.) 

Nay,  in  his  dreams  his  hammer  he  would  wield 

And  seem  to  see  a  myriad  types  revealed, 

Then  spring  with  wondering  triumphant  cry. 

And,  lest  the  inspiring  vision  should  go  by. 

Would  rush  to  labor  with  that  j)lastic  zeal 

Which  all  the  passion  of  our  life  can  steal 

For  force  to  work  with.     Each  day  saw  the  birth 

Of  various  forms  which,  flung  upon  the  earth, 

Seemed  harmless  toys  to  cheat  the  exacting  hour, 

But  were  as  seeds  instinct  with  hidden  power. 

The  ax,  the  club,  the  spiked  wheel,  the  chain. 

Held  silently  the  shrieks  and  moans  of  pain  ; 

And  near  them  latent  lay  in  share  and  spade, 

In  the  strong  bar,  the  saw,  and  deep-curved  blade. 

Glad  voices  of  the  hearth  and  harvest^home. 

The  social  good,  and  all  earth's  joy  to  come. 

Thus  to  mixed  ends  wrought  Tubal ;  and  they  say 

Some  things  he  made  have  lasted  to  this  day ; 

As,  thirty  silver  pieces  that  were  found  '» 

By  Noah's  children  buried  in  the  ground. 

He  made  them  from  mere  hunger  of  device. 

Those  small  white  disks ;  but  they  became  the  price 

The  traitor  Judas  sold  his  Master  for ; 

And  men  still  handling  them  in  peace  and  war 

Catch  foul  disease,  that  comes  as  appetite. 

And  lurks  and  clings  as  withering,  damning  blight. 

But  Tubal-Cain  wot  not  of  treachery. 

Nor  greedy  lust,  nor  any  ill  to  be. 

Save  the  one  ill  of  sinking  into  naught. 

Banished  from  action  and  act-shaping  thought. 

He  was  the  sire  of  swift-transforming  skill. 

Which  arms  for  conquest  man's  ambitious  will ; 

And  round  him  gladly,  as  his  hammer  rung. 

Gathered  the  elders  and  the  growing  young : 

These  handled  vaguely  and  those  plied  the  tools, 

Till,  happy  chance  begetting  conscious  rules, 

The  home  of  Cain  with  industry  was  rife. 

And  glimpses  of  a  strong  persistent  life. 

Panting  through  generations  as  one  breath, 

And  filling  with  its  soul  the  blank  of  death. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  71 

Jubal,  too,  watched  the  hammer,  till  his  eyes, 

No  longer  following  its  fall  or  rise. 

Seemed  glad  with  something  that  they  could  not  see, 

But  only  listened  to  —  some  melody, 

Wherein  dumb  longings  inward  speech  had  found, 

Won  from  the  common  store  of  struggling  sound. 

Then,  as  the  metal  shapes  more  various  grew, 

And,  hurled  upon  each  other,  resonance  drew. 

Each  gave  new  tones,  the  revelations  dim 

Of  some  external  soul  that  spoke  for  him : 

The  hollow  vessel's  clang,  the  clash,  the  boom. 

Like  light  that  makes  wide  spiritual  room 

And  skyey  spaces  in  the  spaceless  thought, 

To  Jubal  such  enlarged  passion  brought 

That  love,  hope,  rage,  and  all  experience 

Were  fused  in  vaster  being,  fetching  thence 

Concords  and  discords,  cadences  and  cries 

That  seemed  from  some  world-shrouded  soul  to  rise, 

Some  rapture  more  intense,  some  mightier  rage, 

Some  living  sea  that  burst  the  bounds  of  man's  brief  age. 

Then  with  such  blissful  trouble  and  glad  care 

For  growth  within  unborn  as  mothers  bear, 

To  the  far  woods  he  wandered,  listening. 

And  heard  the  birds  their  little  stories  sing 

In  notes  whose  rise  and  fall  seemed  melted  speech  — 

Melted  with  tears,  smiles,  glances  —  that  can  reach 

More  quickly  through  our  frame's  deep-winding  night, 

And  without  thought  raise  thought's  best  fruit,  delight. 

Pondering,  he  sought  his  home  again  and  heard 

The  fluctuant  changes  of  the  spoken  word : 

The  deep  remonstrance  and  the  argued  want, 

Insistent  first  in  close  monotonous  chant, 

Next  leaping  upward  to  defiant  stand 

Or  downward  beating  like  the  resolute  hand; 

The  mother's  call,  the  children's  answering  cry, 

The  laugh's  light  cataract  tumbling  from  on  high ; 

The  suasive  repetitions  Jabal  taught. 

That  timid  browsing  cattle  homeward  brought ; 

The  clear-winged  fugue  of  echoes  vanishing ; 

And  through  them  all  the  hammer's  rhythmic  ring. 

Jubal  sat  lonely,  all  around  was  dim, 

Yet  his  face  glowed  with  light  revealed  to  him : 

For  as  the  delicate  stream  of  odor  wakes 

The  thought-wed  sentience  and  some  image  makes 


72  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

From  out  the  mingled  fragments  of  the  past, 
Finely  compact  in  wholeness  that  will  last, 
So  streamed  as  from  the  body  of  each  sound 
Subtler  pulsations,  swift  as  warmth,  which  found 
All  prisoned  germs  and  all  their  powers  unbound. 
Till  thought  self-luminous  flamed  from  memory. 
And  in  creative  vision  wandered  free. 
Then  Jubal,  standing,  rapturous  arms  upraised, 
And  on  the  dark  with  eager  eyes  he  gazed. 
As  had  some  manifested  god  been  there. 
It  was  his  thought  he  saw :  the  presence  fair 
Of  unachieved  achievement,  the  high  task. 
The  struggling  unborn  spirit  that  doth  ask 
With  irresistible  cry  for  blood  and  breath, 
Till  feeding  its  great  life  we  sink  in  death. 

He  said,  "  Were  now  those  mighty  tones  and  cries 

That  from  the  giant  soul  of  earth  arise. 

Those  groans  of  some  great  travail  heard  from  far, 

Some  power  at  wrestle  with  the  things  that  are. 

Those  sounds  which  vary  with  the  varying  form 

Of  clay  and  metal,  and  in  sightless  swarm 

Fill  the  wide  space  with  tremors :  were  these  wed 

To  human  voices  with  such  passion  fed 

As  does  put  glimmer  in  our  common  speech. 

But  might  flame  out  in  tones  whose  changing  reach, 

Surpassing  meager  need,  informs  the  sense 

With  fuller  union,  finer  difference  — 

Were  this  great  vision,  now  obscurely  bright 

As  morning  hills  that  melt  in  new-poured  light, 

Wrought  into  solid  form  and  living  sound. 

Moving  with  ordered  throb  and  sure  rebound. 

Then  —  Nay,  I,  Jubal,  will  that  work  begin! 

The  generations  of  our  race  shall  win 

New  life,  that  grows  from  out  the  heart  of  this. 

As  spring  from  winter,  or  as  lovers'  bliss 

From  out  the  dull  unknown  of  unwaked  energies." 

Thus  he  resolved,  and  in  the  soul-fed  light 
Of  coming  ages  waited  through  the  night. 
Watching  for  that  near  dawn  whose  chiller  ray 
Showed  but  the  unchanged  world  of  yesterday ; 
Where  all  the  order  of  his  dream  divine 
Lay  like  Olympian  forms  within  the  mine ; 
Where  fervor  that  could  fill  the  earthly  round 
With  thronged  joys  of  form-begotten  sound 


THE   LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  73 

Must  shrink  intense  within  the  patient  power 
That  lonely  labors  through  the  niggard  hour. 
Such  patience  have  the  heroes  who  begin, 
Sailing  the  first  to  lands  which  others  win. 
Jubal  must  dare  as  great  beginners  dare, 
Strike  form's  first  way  in  matter  rude  and  bare, 
And,  yearning  vaguely  toward  the  plenteous  quire 
Of  the  world's  harvest,  make  one  poor  small  lyre. 
He  made  it,  and  from  out  its  measured  frame 
Drew  the  harmonic  soul,  whose  answers  came 
With  guidance  sweet  and  lessons  of  delight 
Teaching  to  ear  and  hand  the  blissful  Right, 
Where  strictest  law  is  gladness  to  the  sense 
And  all  desire  bends  toward  obedience. 
Then  Jubal  poured  his  triumph  in  a  song  — 

The  rapturous  word  that  rapturous  notes  prolong 
As  radiance  streams  from  smallest  things  that  burn, 

Or  thought  of  loving  into  love  doth  turn. 

And  still  his  lyre  gave  companionship 

In  sense-taught  concert  as  of  lip  with  lip. 

Alone  amid  the  hills  at  first  he  tried 

His  winged  song ;  then  with  adoring  pride 

And  bridegroom's  joy  at  leading  forth  his  bride. 

He  said,  "  This  wonder  which  my  soul  hath  found, 

This  heart  of  music  in  the  might  of  sound. 

Shall  forthwith  be  the  share  of  all  our  race 

And  like  the  morning  gladden  common  space : 

The  song  shall  spread  and  swell  as  rivers  do, 

And  I  will  teach  our  youth  with  skill  to  woo 

This  living  lyre,  to  know  its  secret  will, 

Its  fine  division  of  the  good  and  ill. 

So  shall  men  call  me  sire  of  harmony. 

And  where  great  Song  is,  there  my  life  shall  be." 

Thus  glorying  as  a  god  beneficent. 
Forth  from  his  solitary  joy  he  went 
To  bless  mankind.     It  was  at  evening. 
When  shadows  lengthen  from  each  westward  thing, 
When  imminence  of  change  makes  sense  more  fine 
And  light  seems  holier  in  its  grand  decline. 
The  fruit  trees  wore  their  studded  coronal. 
Earth  and  her  children  were  at  festival. 
Glowing  as  with  one  heart  and  one  consent  — 
Thought,  love,  trees,  rocks,  in  sweet  warm  radiance 
blent. 


74  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

The  tribe  of  Cain  was  resting  on  the  ground, 

The  various  ages  wreathed  in  one  broad  round. 

Here  lay,  while  children  peeped  o'er  his  huge  thighs, 

The  sinewy  man  embrowned  by  centuries ; 

Here  the  broad-bosomed  mother  of  the  strong 

Looked,  like  Demeter,  placid  o'er  the  throng 

Of  young  lithe  forms  whose  rest  was  movement  too  — 

Tricks,  prattle,  nods,  and  laughs  that  lightly  flew, 

And  swayings  as  of  flower  beds  where  Love  blew. 

For  all  had  feasted  well  upon  the  flesh 

Of  juicy  fruits,  on  nuts,  and  honey  fresh, 

And  now  their  wine  was  health-bred  merriment, 

Which  through  the  generations  circling  went, 

Leaving  none  sad,  for  even  father  Cain 

Smiled  as  a  Titan  might,  despising  pain. 

Jabal  sat  climbed  on  by  a  playful  ring 

Of  children,  lambs,  and  whelps,  whose  gamboling. 

With  tiny  hoofs,  paws,  hands,  and  dimpled  feet. 

Made  barks,  bleats,  laughs,  in  pretty  hubbub  meet. 

But  Tubal's  hammer  rang  from  far  away. 

Tubal  alone  would  keep  no  holiday. 

His  furnace  must  not  slack  for  any  feast. 

For  of  all  hardship  work  he  counted  least ; 

He  scorned  all  rest  but  sleep,  where  every  dream 

Made  his  repose  more  potent  action  seem. 

Yet  with  health's  nectar  some  strange  thirst  was  blent, 

The  fateful  growth,  the  unnamed  discontent. 

The  inward  shaping  toward  some  unborn  power. 

Some  deeper-breathing  act,  the  being's  flower. 

After  all  gestures,  words,  and  speech  of  eyes. 

The  soul  had  more  to  tell,  and  broke  in  sighs. 

Then  from  the  east,  with  glory  on  his  head 
Such  as  low-slanting  beams  on  corn  waves  spread. 
Came  Jubal  with  his  lyre :  there  'mid  the  throng. 
Where  the  blank  space  was,  poured  a  solemn  song, 
Touching  his  lyre  to  full  harmonic  throb 
And  measured  pulse,  with  cadences  that  sob. 
Exult  and  cry,  and  search  the  inmost  deep 
Where  the  dark  sources  of  new  passion  sleep. 
Joy  took  the  air,  and  took  each  breathing  soul. 
Embracing  them  in  one  entranced  whole, 
Yet  thrilled  each  varying  frame  to  various  ends, 
As  Spring  new-waking  through  the  creature  sends 
Or  rage  or  tenderness ;  more  plenteous  life 


THE   LEGEND   OF  JUBAL.  75 

Here  breeding  dread,  and  there  a  fiercer  strife. 

He  who  had  lived  through  twice  three  centuries, 

Whose  months  monotonous,  like  trees  on  trees, 

In  hoary  forests,  stretched  a  backward  maze, 

Dreamed  himself  dimly  through  the  traveled  days 

Till  in  clear  light  he  paused,  and  felt  the  sun 

That  warmed  him  when  he  was  a  little  one ; 

Felt  that  true  heaven,  the  recovered  past, 

The  dear  small  Known  amid  the  Unknown  vast. 

And  in  that  heaven  wept.     But  younger  limbs 

Thrilled  toward  the  future,  that  bright  land  which  swims 

In  western  glory,  isles  and  streams  and  bays. 

Where  hidden  pleasures  float  in  golden  haze. 

And  in  all  these  the  rhythmic  influence, 

Sweetly  o'ercharging  the  delighted  sense. 

Flowed  out  in  movements,  little  waves  that  spread 

Enlarging,  till  in  tidal  union  led 

The  youths  and  maidens  both  alike  long-tressed, 

By  grace-inspiring  melody  possessed. 

Rose  in  slow  dance,  with  beauteous  floating  swerve 

Of  limbs  and  hair,  and  many  a  melting  curve 

Of  ringed  feet  swayed  by  each  close-linked  palm : 

Then  Jubal  poured  more  rapture  in  his  psalm, 

The  dance  fired  music,  music  fired  the  dance, 

The  glow  diffusive  lit  each  countenance. 

Till  all  the  gazing  elders  rose  and  stood 

With  glad  yet  awful  shock  of  that  mysterious  good. 

Even  Tubal  caught  the  sound,  and  wondering  came, 

Urging  his  sooty  bulk  like  smoke-wrapt  flame 

Till  he  could  see  his  brother  with  the  lyre, 

The  work  for  which  he  lent  his  furnace  fire 

And  diligent  hammer,  witting  naught  of  this  — 

This  power  in  metal  shape  which  made  strange  bliss, 

Entering  within  him  like  a  dream  full-fraught 

With  new  creations  finished  in  a  thought. 

The  sun  had  sunk,  but  music  still  was  there, 

And  when  this  ceased,  still  triumph  filled  the  air : 

It  seemed  the  stars  were  shining  with  delight 

And  that  no  night  was  ever  like  this  night. 

All  clung  with  praise  to  Jubal :  some  besought 

That  he  would  teach  them  his  new  skill ;  some  caught, 

Swiftly  as  smiles  are  caught  in  looks  that  meet. 

The  tone's  melodic  change  and  rhythmic  beat : 

'Twas  easy  following  where  invention  trod  — 

All  eyes  can  see  when  light  flows  out  from  God. 


76  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

And  thus  did  Jubal  to  his  race  reveal 

Music,  their  larger  soul,  where  woe  and  weal 

Filling  the  resonant  chords,  the  song,  the  dance, 

Moved  with  a  wider-winged  utterance. 

Now  many  a  lyre  was  fashioned,  many  a  song 

Raised  echoes  new,  old  echoes  to  prolong, 

Till  things  of  Jubal's  making  were  so  rife, 

"  Hearing  myself,"  he  said,  "  hems  in  my  life, 

And  I  will  get  me  to  some  far-off  land. 

Where  higher  mountains  under  heaven  stand 

And  touch  the  blue  at  rising  of  the  stars. 

Whose  song  they  hear  where  no  rough  mingling  mars 

The  great  clear  voices.     Such  lands  there  must  be, 

Where  varying  forms  make  varying  symphony  — 

Where  other  thunders  roll  amid  the  hills, 

Some  mightier  wind  a  mightier  forest  fills 

With  other  strains  through  other-shapen  boughs ! 

Where  bees  and  birds  and  beasts  that  hunt  or  browse 

Will  teach  me  songs  I  know  not.     Listening  there, 

My  life  shall  grow  like  trees  both  tall  and  fair 

That  rise  and  spread  and  bloom  toward  fuller  fruit  each  year." 

He  took  a  raft,  and  traveled  with  the  stream 

Southward  for  many  a  league,  till  he  might  deem 

He  saw  at  last  the  pillars  of  the  sky, 

Beholding  mountains  whose  white  majesty 

Rushed  through  him  as  new  awe,  and  made  new  song 

That  swept  with  fuller  wave  the  chords  along, 

Weighting  his  voice  with  deep  religious  chime, 

The  iteration  of  slow  chant  sublime. 

It  was  the  region  long  inhabited 

By  all  the  race  of  Seth ;  and  Jubal  said : 

"  Here  have  I  found  my  thirsty  soul's  desire, 

Eastward  the  hills  touch  heaven,  and  evening's  fire 

Flames  through  deep  waters ;  I  will  take  my  rest. 

And  feed  anew  from  my  great  mother's  breast, 

The  sky-clasped  Earth,  whose  voices  nurture  me 

As  the  flowers'  sweetness  doth  the  honeybee." 

He  lingered  wandering  for  many  an  age, 

And,  sowing  music,  made  high  heritage 

For  generations  far  beyond  the  Flood  — 

For  the  poor  late-begotten  human  brood 

Born  to  life's  weary  brevity  and  perilous  good. 

And  ever  as  he  traveled  he  would  climb 

The  farthest  mountain,  yet  the  heavenly  chime, 


THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  77 

The  mighty  tolling  of  the  far-off  spheres 
Beating  their  pathway,  never  touched  his  ears. 
But  wheresoe'er  he  rose  the  heavens  rose, 
And  the  far-gazing  mountain  could  disclose 
Naught  but  a  wider  earth ;  until  one  height 
Showed  him  the  ocean  stretched  in  liquid  light, 
And  he  could  hear  its  multitudinous  roar, 
Its  plunge  and  hiss  upon  the  pebbled  shore : 
Then  Jubal  silent  sat,  and  touched  his  lyre  no  more. 

He  thought,  "  The  world  is  great,  but  I  am  weak, 
And  where  the  sky  bends  is  no  solid  peak 
To  give  me  footing,  but  instead,  this  main  — 
Myriads  of  maddened  horses  thundering  o'er  the  plain. 

"  New  voices  come  to  me  where'er  I  roam, 
My  heart  too  widens  with  its  widening  home : 
But  song  grows  weaker,  and  the  heart  must  break 
For  lack  of  voice,  or  fingers  that  can  wake 
The  lyre's  full  answer;  nay,  its  chords  were  all 
Too  few  to  meet  the  growing  spirit's  call. 
The  former  songs  seem  little,  yet  no  more 
Can  soul,  hand,  voice,  with  interchanging  lore 
Tell  what  the  earth  is  saying  unto  me : 
The  secret  is  too  great,  I  hear  confusedly. 

"  No  farther  will  I  travel :  once  again 

My  brethren  I  will  see,  and  that  fair  plain 

Where  I  and  Song  were  born.     There  fresh-voiced  youth 

Will  pour  my  strains  with  all  the  early  truth 

Which  now  abides  not  in  my  voice  and  hands, 

But  only  in  the  soul,  the  will  that  stands 

Helpless  to  move.     My  tribe  remembering 

Will  cry  '  'Tis  he ! '  and  riin  to  greet  me,  welcoming." 

The  way  was  weary.     Many  a  date  palm  grew. 

And  shook  out  clustered  gold  against  the  blue. 

While  Jubal,  guided  by  the  steadfast  spheres. 

Sought  the  dear  home  of  those  first  eager  years. 

When,  with  fresh  vision  fed,  the  fuller  will 

Took  living  outward  shape  in  pliant  skill ; 

For  still  he  hoped  to  find  the  former  things. 

And  the  warm  gladness  recognition  brings. 

His  footsteps  erred  among  the  mazy  woods 

And  long  illusive  sameness  of  the  floods. 

Winding  and  wandering.     Through  far  regions,  strange 


78  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

With  Gentile  homes  and  faces,  did  he  range, 
And  left  his  music  in  their  memory, 
And  left  at  last,  when  naught  besides  would  free 
His  homeward  steps  from  clinging  hands  and  cries, 
The  ancient  lyre.     And  now  in  ignorant  eyes 
No  sign  remained  of  Jubal,  Lamech's  son. 
That  mortal  frame  wherein  was  first  begun 
The  immortal  life  of  song.     His  withered  brow 
Pressed  over  eyes  that  held  no  lightning  now, 
His  locks  streamed  whiteness  on  the  hurrying  air, 
The  unresting  soul  had  worn  itself  quite  bare 
Of  beauteous  token,  as  the  outworn  might 
Of  oaks  slow  dying,  gaunt  in  summer's  light. 
His  full  deep  voice  toward  thinnest  treble  ran : 
He  was  the  rune-writ  story  of  a  man. 

And  so  at  last  he  neared  the  well-known  land. 
Could  see  the  hills  in  ancient  order  stand 
With  friendly  faces  whose  familiar  gaze 
Looked  through  the  sunshine  of  his  childish  days; 
Knew  the  deep-shadowed  folds  of  hanging  woods, 
And  seemed  to  see  the  selfsame  insect  broods 
Whirling  and  quivering  o'er  the  flowers  —  to  hear 
The  selfsame  cuckoo  making  distance  near. 
Yea,  the  dear  Earth,  with  mother's  constancy, 
Met  and  embraced  him,  and  said,  "  Thou  art  he ! 
This  was  thy  cradle,  here  my  breast  was  thine, 
Where  feeding,  thou  didst  all  thy  life  entwine 
With  my  sky-wedded  life  in  heritage  divine." 

But  wending  ever  through  the  watered  plain, 

Firm  not  to  rest  save  in  the  home  of  Cain, 

He  saw  dread  Change,  with  dubious  face  and  cold 

That  never  kept  a  welcome  for  the  old. 

Like  some  strange  heir  upon  the  hearth,  arise 

Saying,  "  This  home  is  mine."     He  thought  his  eyes 

Mocked  all  deep  memories,  as  things  new  made. 

Usurping  sense,  make  old  things  shrink  and  fade 

And  seem  ashamed  to  meet  the  staring  day. 

His  memory  saw  a  small  foot-trodden  way. 

His  eyes  a  broad  far-stretching  paven  road 

Bordered  with  many  a  tomb  and  fair  abode ; 

The  little  city  that  once  nestled  low 

As  buzzing  groups  about  some  central  glow, 

Spread  like  a  murmuring  crowd  o'er  plain  and  steep) 


THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL.  79 

Or  monster  huge  in  heavy-breathing  sleep. 

His  heart  grew  faint,  and  tremblingly  he  sank 

Close  by  the  wayside  on  a  weed-grown  bank, 

Not  far  from  where  a  new-raised  temple  stood, 

Sky-roofed,  and  fragrant  with  wrought  cedar  wood. 

The  morning  sun  was  high ;  his  rays  fell  hot 

On  this  hap-chosen,  dusty,  common  spot. 

On  the  dry-withered  grass  and  withered  man : 

That  wondrous  frame  where  melody  began 

Lay  as  a  tomb  defaced  that  no  eye  cared  to  scan. 

But  while  he  sank  far  music  reached  his  ear. 

He  listened  until  wonder  silenced  fear 

And  gladness  wonder ;  for  the  broadening  stream 

Of  sound  advancing  was  his  early  dream, 

Brought  like  fulfillment  of  forgotten  prayer; 

As  if  his  soul,  breathed  out  upon  the  air. 

Had  held  the  invisible  seeds  of  harmony 

Quick  with  the  various  strains  of  life  to  be. 

He  listened :  the  sweet  mingled  difference 

With  charm  alternate  took  the  meeting  sense ; 

Then  bursting  like  some  shield-broad  lily  red,' 

Sudden  and  near  the  trumpet's  notes  outspread, 

And  soon  his  eyes  could  see  the  metal  flower, 

Shining  upturned,  out  on  the  morning  pour 

Its  incense  audible ;  could  see  a  train 

From  out  the  street  slow-winding  on  the  plain 

With  lyres  and  cymbals,  flutes  and  psalteries. 

While  men,  youths,  maids,  in  concert  sang  to  these 

With  various  throat,  or  in  succession  poured. 

Or  in  full  volume  mingled.     But  one  word 

Ruled  each  recurrent  rise  and  answering  fall. 

As  when  the  multitudes  adoring  call 

On  some  great  name  divine,  their  common  soul, 

The  common  need,  love,  joy,  that  knits  them  in  one  whole 

The  word  was  "  Jubal !  "  .  .  .  "  Jubal  "  filled  the  air 

And  seemed  to  ride  aloft,  a  spirit  there. 

Creator  of  the  quire,  the  full-fraught  strain 

That  grateful  rolled  itself  to  him  again. 

The  aged  man  adust  upon  the  bank  — 

Whom  no  eye  saw  — at  first  with  rapture  drank 

The  bliss  of  music,  then,  with  swelling  heart, 

Felt,  this  was  his  own  being's  greater  part. 

The  universal  joy  once  born  in  him. 

But  when  the  train,  with  living  face  and  limb 


80  THE  LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

And  vocal  breath,  came  nearer  and  more  near, 

The  longing  grew  that  they  should  hold  him  dear ; 

Him,  Lamech's  son,  whom  all  their  fathers  knew. 

The  breathing  Jubal  —  him,  to  whom  their  love  was  due. 

All  was  forgotten  but  the  burning  need 

To  claim  his  fuller  self,  to  claim  the  deed 

That  lived  away  from  him,  and  grew  apart. 

While  he  as  from  a  tomb,  with  lonely  heart. 

Warmed  by  no  meeting  glance,  no  hand  that  pressed, 

Lay  chill  amid  the  life  his  life  had  blessed. 

What  though  his  song  should  spread  from  man's  small  race 

Out  through  the  myriad  worlds  that  people  space, 

And  make  the  heavens  one  joy-diffusing  quire  ?  — 

Still  'mid  that  vast  would  throb  the  keen  desire 

Of  this  poor  aged  flesh,  this  eventide. 

This  twilight  soon  in  darkness  to  subside. 

This  little  pulse  of  self  that,  having  glowed 

Through  thrice  three  centuries,  and  divinely  strowed 

The  light  of  music  through  the  vague  of  sound. 

Ached  with  its  smallness  still  in  good  that  had  no  bound. 

For  no  eye  saw  him,  while  with  loving  pride 
Each  voice  with  each  in  praise  of  Jubal  vied. 
Must  he  in  conscious  trance,  dumb,  helpless  lie 
While  all  that  ardent  kindred  passed  him  by  ? 
His  flesh  cried  out  to  live  with  living  men 
And  join  that  soul  which  to  the  inward  ken 
Of  all  the  hymning  train  was  present  there. 
Strong  passion's  daring  sees  not  aught  to  dare : 
The  frost-locked  starkness  of  his  frame  low-bent, 
His  voice's  penury  of  tones  long  spent. 
He  felt  not ;  all  his  being  leaped  in  flame 
To  meet  his  kindred  as  they  onward  came 
Slackening  and  wheeling  toward  the  temple's  face: 
He  rushed  before  them  to  the  glittering  space, 
,     And,  with  a  strength  that  was  but  strong  desire, 
Cried,  "  I  am  Jubal,  I !  ...  I  made  the  lyre ! " 

The  tones  amid  a  lake  of  silence  fell 
Broken  and  strained,  as  if  a  feeble  bell 
Had  tuneless  pealed  the  triumph  of  a  land 
To  listening  crowds  in  expectation  spanned. 
Sudden  came  showers  of  laughter  on  that  lake ; 
They  spread  along  the  train  from  front  to  wake 
In  one  great  storm  of  merriment,  while  he 


THE   LEGEND   OF  JUBAL.  81 

Shrank  doubting  whether  he  could  Jubal  be, 

And  not  a  dream  of  Jubal,  whose  rich  vein 

Of  passionate  music  came  with  that  dream  pain 

Wherein  the  sense  slips  off  from  each  loved  thing 

And  all  appearance  is  mere  vanishing. 

But  ere  the  laughter  died  from  out  the  rear, 

Anger  in  front  saw  profanation  near ; 

Jubal  was  but  a  name  in  each  man's  faith 

For  glorious  power  untouched  by  that  slow  death 

Which  creeps  with  creeping  time ;  this  too,  the  spot, 

And  this  the  day,  it  must  be  crime  to  blot. 

Even  with  scoffing  at  a  madman's  lie : 

Jubal  was  not  a  name  to  wed  with  mockery. 

Two  rushed  upon  him :  two,  the  most  devout 

In  honor  of  great  Jubal,  thrust  him  out. 

And  beat  him  with  their  flutes.     'Twas  little  need ; 

He  strove  not,  cried  not,  but  with  tottering  speed. 

As  if  the  scorn  and  howls  were  driving  wind 

That  urged  his  body,  serving  so  the  mind 

Which  could  but  shrink  and  yearn,  he  sought  the  screen 

Of  thorny  thickets,  and  there  fell  unseen. 

The  immortal  name  of  Jubal  filled  the  sky. 

While  Jubal  lonely  laid  him  down  to  die. 

He  said  within  his  soul,  "  This  is  the  end  : 

O'er  all  the  earth  to  where  the  heavens  bend 

And  hem  men's  travel,  I  have  breathed  my  soul : 

I  lie  here  now  the  remnant  of  that  whole. 

The  embers  of  a  life,  a  lonely  pain ; 

As  far-off  rivers  to  my  thirst  were  vain. 

So  of  my  mighty  years  naught  comes  to  me  again. 

"  Is  the  day  sinking  ?     Softest  coolness  springs 
From  something  round  me :  dewy  shadowy  wings 
Enclose  me  all  around  —  no,  not  above  — 
Is  moonlight  there  ?    I  see  a  face  of  love. 
Fair  as  sweet  music  when  my  heart  was  strong : 
Yea  —  art  thou  come  again  to  me,  great  Song  ?  " 

The  face  bent  over  him  like  silver  night 
In  long-remembered  summers ;  that  calm  light 
Of  days  which  shine  in  firmaments  of  thought. 
That  past  unchangeable,  from  change  still  wrought. 
And  gentlest  tones  were  with  the  vision  blent : 
He  knew  not  if  that  gaze  the  music  sent. 
Or  music  that  calm  gaze :  to  hear,  to  see. 
Was  but  one  undivided  ecstasy : 


82  THE   LEGEND  OF  JUBAL. 

The  raptured  senses  melted  into  one, 

And  parting  life  a  moment's  freedom  won 

From  in  and  outer,  as  a  little  child 

Sits  on  a  bank  and  sees  blue  heavens  mild 

Down  in  the  water,  and  forgets  its  limbs. 

And  kuoweth  naught  save  the  blue  heaven  that  swims. 

"  Jubal,"  the  face  said,  "  I  am  thy  loved  Past, 

The  soul  that  makes  thee  one  from  first  to  last. 

I  am  the  angel  of  thy  life  and  death, 

Thy  outbreathed  being  drawing  its  last  breath. 

Am  I  not  thine  alone,  a  dear  dead  bride 

Who  blest  thy  lot  above  all  men's  beside  ? 

Thy  bride  whom  thou  wouldst  never  change,  nor  take 

Any  bride  living,  for  that  dead  one's  sake  ? 

Was  I  not  all  thy  yearning  and  delight. 

Thy  chosen  search,  thy  senses'  beauteous  Right, 

Which  still  had  been  the  hunger  of  thy  frame 

In  central  heaven,  hadst  thou  been  still  the  same? 

Wouldst  thou  have  asked  aught  else  from  any  god  — 

Whether  with  gleaming  feet  on  earth  he  trod 

Or  thundered  through  the  skies  —  aught  else  for  share 

Of  mortal  good,  than  in  thy  soul  to  bear 

The  growth  of  song,  and  feel  the  sweet  unrest 

Of  the  world's  spring-tide  in  thy  conscious  breast  ? 

No,  thou  hadst  grasped  thy  lot  with  all  its  pain, 

Nor  loosed  it  any  painless  lot  to  gain 

Where  music's  voice  was  silent ;  for  thy  fate 

Was  human  music's  self  incorporate : 

Thy  senses'  keenness  and  thy  passionate  strife 

Were  flesh  of  her  flesh  and  her  womb  of  life. 

And  greatly  hast  thou  lived,  for  not  alone 

With  hidden  raptures  were  her  secrets  shown, 

Buried  within  thee,  as  the  purple  light 

Of  gems  may  sleep  in  solitary  night ; 

But  thy  expanding  joy  was  still  to  give. 

And  with  the  generous  air  in  song  to  live. 

Feeding  the  wave  of  ever- widening  bliss 

Where  fellowship  means  equal  perfectness. 

And  on  the  mountains  in  thy  wandering 

Thy  feet  were  beautiful  as  blossomed  spring, 

That  turns  the  leafless  wood  to  love's  glad  home, 

For  with  thy  coming  Melody  was  come. 

This  was  thy  lot,  to  feel,  create,  bestow, 

And  that  immeasurable  life  to  know 


TUBAL   CAIN.  83 

From  which  the  fleshly  self  falls  shriveled,  dead, 
A  seed  primeval  that  has  forests  bred. 
It  is  the  glory  of  the  heritage 
Thy  life  has  left,  that  makes  thy  outcast  age : 
Thy  limbs  shall  lie  dark,  tombless  on  this  sod, 
Because  thou  shinest  in  man's  soul,  a  god, 
Who  found  and  gave  new  passion  and  new  joy 
That  naught  but  Earth's  destruction  can  destroy. 
Thy  gifts  to  give  was  thine  of  men  alone : 
'Twas  but  in  giving  that  thou  couldst  atone 
For  too  much  wealth  amid  their  poverty." 

The  words  seemed  melting  into  symphony, 
The  wings  upbore  him,  and  the  gazing  song 
Was  floating  him  the  heavenly  space  along. 
Where  mighty  harmonies  all  gently  fell 
Through  veiling  vastness,  like  the  far-off  bell. 
Till,  ever  onward  through  the  choral  blue, 
He  heard  more  faintly  and  more  faintly  knew, 
Quitting  mortality,  a  quenched  sun  wave. 
The  All-creating  Presence  for  his  grave. 


TUBAL   CAIN. 

By  CHARLES  MACKAY. 

Old  Tubal  Cain  was  a  man  of  might. 

In  the  days  when  the  earth  was  young ; 
By  the  fierce  red  light  of  his  furnace  bright, 

The  strokes  of  his  hammer  rung ; 
And  he  lifted  high  his  brawny  hand 

On  the  iron  glowing  clear, 
Till  the  sparks  rushed  out  in  scarlet  showers, 

As  he  fashioned  the  sword  and  the  spear. 
And  he  sang :  "  Hurrah  for  my  handiwork ! 

Hurrah  for  the  spear  and  the  sword ! 
Hurrah  for  the  hand  that  shall  wield  them  well, 

For  he  shall  be  king  and  lord." 

To  Tubal  Cain  came  many  a  one, 
As  he  wrought  by  his  roaring  fire, 

And  each  one  prayed  for  a  strong  steel  blade 
As  the  crown  of  his  desire : 


84  TUBAL  CAIN. 

And  he  made  them  weapons  sharp  and  strong, 

Till  they  shouted  loud  for  glee, 
And  gave  him  gifts  of  pearl  and  gold. 

And  spoils  of  the  forest  free. 
And  they  sang :  "  Hurrah  for  Tubal  Cain, 

Who  hath  given  us  strength  anew ! 
Hurrah  for  the  smith,  hurrah  for  the  fire, 

And  hurrah  for  the  metal  true !  " 

But  a  sudden  change  came  o'er  his  heart, 

Ere  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
And  Tubal  Cain  was  filled  with  pain 

For  the  evil  he  had  done ; 
He  saw  that  men,  with  rage  and  hate. 

Made  war  upon  their  kind. 
That  the  land  was  red  with  the  blood  they  shed, 

In  their  lust  for  carnage  blind. 
And  he  said :  "  Alas !  that  ever  I  made, 

Or  that  skill  of  mine  should  plan. 
The  spear  and  the  sword  for  men  whose  joy 

Is  to  slay  their  fellow-man !  " 

And  for  many  a  day  old  Tubal  Cain 

Sat  brooding  o'er  his  woe ; 
And  his  hand  forebore  to  smite  the  ore, 

And  his  furnace  smoldered  low. 
But  he  rose  at  last  with  a  cheerful  face. 

And  a  bright  courageous  eye. 
And  bared  his  strong  right  arm  for  work, 

While  the  quick  flames  mounted  high. 
And  he  sang :  "  Hurrah  for  my  handiwork  !  " 

And  the  red  sparks  lit  the  air ; 
"  Not  alone  for  the  blade  was  the  bright  steel  made  "  • 

And  he  fashioned  the  first  plowshare. 

And  men,  taught  wisdom  from  the  past. 

In  friendship  joined  their  hands. 
Hung  the  sword  in  the  hall,  the  spear  on  the  wall, 

And  plowed  the  willing  lands ; 
And  sang :  "  Hurrah  for  Tubal  Cain ! 

Our  stanch  good  friend  is  he ; 
And  for  the  plowshare  and  the  plow 

To  him  our  praise  shall  be. 
But  while  oppression  lifts  its  head. 

Or  a  tyrant  would  be  lord. 
Though  we  may  thank  him  for  the  plow, 

We'll  not  forget  the  sword !  " 


LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT.  85 

LIFE   IN   ANCIENT   EGYPT. 

By  Canon  RAWLINSON. 

[George  Rawlinson  :  a  noted  English  classical  and  Oriental  scholar  and 
historian,  brother  of  the  great  explorer  and  scholar  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson  ;  bom 
in  Oxfordshire,  1815  ;  canon  of  Canterbury  Cathedral.  His  monumental  works 
are  "Seven  Great  Oriental  Monarchies"  (1862-76),  the  great  edition  of  Herod- 
otus, with  his  brother  and  Sir  J.  Gardner  Wilkinson,  four  volumes  (1858-60), 
and  "History  of  Egypt,"  two  volumes  (second  edition  1881).  He  also  wrote 
theological  works  and  other  histories,  now  superseded.] 

Iritisen,  a  statuary  of  the  eleventh  dynasty,  had  a  monu- 
ment prepared  for  himself,  pronounced  to  be  "one  of  the 
masterpieces  of  Egyptian  sculpture."  He  is  represented  upon 
it  "  holding  in  the  left  hand  the  long  baton  used  by  elders  and 
noblemen,  and  in  his  right  hand  the  pat  or  scepter."  In  the 
inscription  he  calls  himself  the  "true  servant"  of  the  king 
Mentu-hotep,  "he  who  is  in  the  inmost  recess  of  his  (i.e.  the 
king's)  heart,  and  makes  his  pleasure  all  the  day  long."  He 
also  declares  that  he  is  "an  artist,  wise  in  his  art  —  a  man 
standing  above  all  men  by  his  learning."  Altogether,  the  mon- 
ument is  one  from  which  we  may  reasonably  conclude  that 
Iritisen  occupied  a  position  not  much  below  that  of  a  noble, 
and  enjoyed  the  personal  acquaintance  of  the  monarch  in 
whose  reign  he  flourished. 

Musicians  seem  scarcely  to  have  attained  to  the  same  level. 
Music  was  used,  in  the  main,  as  a  light  entertainment,  enhancing 
the  pleasures  of  the  banquet,  and  was  in  the  hands  of  a  pro- 
fessional class  which  did  not  bear  the  best  of  characters.  The 
religious  ceremonies  into  which  music  entered  were  mostly  of 
an  equivocal  character.  There  may  perhaps  have  been  some 
higher  and  more  serious  employment  of  it,  as  in  funeral  lamen- 
tations, in  religious  processions,  and  in  state  ceremonies ;  but 
on  the  whole  it  seems  to  have  borne  the  character  which  it 
bears  in  most  parts  of  the  East  at  the  present  day  —  the  char- 
acter of  an  art  ministering  to  the  lower  elements  of  human 
nature,  and  tending  to  corrupt  men  rather  than  to  elevate 
them. 

Dancing  and  music  are  constantly  united  together  in  the 
sculptures  ;  and  the  musicians  and  dancers  must,  it  would 
seem,  have  been  very  closely  connected  indeed,  and  socially 
have   ranked   almost,  if   not   quite,  upon   a   par.     Musicians, 


86  LIFE   IN   ANCIENT   EGYPT. 

sometimes,  as  already  observed,  danced  as  they  played  ;  and 
where  this  was  not  the  case,  dancers  generally  formed  a  part 
of  the  troupe,  and  intermixed  themselves  with  the  instrumental 
performers.  Dancing  was  professed  both  by  men  and  women  ; 
but  women  were  preferred ;  and  in  the  entertainments  of  the 
rich  the  guests  were  generally  amused  by  the  graceful  move- 
ments of  trained  females,  who  went  through  the  steps  and 
figures,  which  they  had  been  taught,  for  a  certain  sum  of  money. 
If  we  may  trust  the  paintings,  many  of  these  professionals  were 
absolutely  without  clothes,  or  wore  only  a  narrow  girdle,  em- 
broidered with  beads,  about  their  hips.  At  the  best,  their 
dresses  were  of  so  light  and  thin  a  texture  as  to  be  perfectly 
transparent,  and  to  reveal  rather  than  veil  the  form  about 
which  they  floated.  It  is  scarcely  probable  that  the  class 
which  was  content  thus  to  outrage  decency  could  have  borne 
a  better  character,  or  enjoyed  a  higher  social  status,  than  the 
almehs  of  modern  Egypt  or  the  nautch  girls  of  India. 

Of  learned  professions  in  Egypt,  the  most  important  was 
that  of  the  scribe.  Though  writing  was  an  ordinary  accomplish- 
ment of  the  educated  classes,  and  scribes  were  not  therefore 
so  absolutely  necessary  as  they  are  in  most  Eastern  countries, 
yet  still  there  were  a  large  number  of  occupations  for  which 
professional  penmanship  was  a  prerequisite,  and  others  which 
demanded  the  learning  that  a  scribe  naturally  acquired  in  the 
exercise  of  his  trade.  The  Egyptian  religion  necessitated  the 
multiplication  of  copies  of  the  "  Ritual  of  the  Dead,"  and 
the  employment  of  numerous  clerks  in  the  registration  of  the 
sacred  treasures,  and  the  management  of  the  sacred  estates. 
The  civil  administration  depended  largely  upon  a  system  of 
registration  and  of  official  reports,  which  were  perpetually  being 
made  to  the  court  by  the  superintendents  in  all  departments  of 
the  public  service.  Most  private  persons  of  large  means  kept 
bailiffs  or  secretaries,  who  made  up  their  accounts,  paid  their 
laborers,  and  otherwise  acted  as  managers  of  their  property. 
There  was  thus  a  large  number  of  lucrative  posts  which  could 
only  be  properly  filled  by  persons  such  as  the  scribes  were, 
ready  with  the  pen,  familiar  with  the  different  kinds  of  writing, 
good  at  figures,  and  at  the  same  time  not  of  so  high  a  class  as 
to  be  discontented  with  a  life  of  dull  routine,  if  not  of  drudg- 
ery. The  occupation  of  scribe  was  regarded  as  one  befitting 
men  from  the  middle  ranks  of  society,  who  might  otherwise 
have  been  blacksmiths,  carpenters,  small  farmers,  or  the  like. 


LIFE   IN   ANCIENT   EGYPT.  87 

It  would  seem  that  there  were  schools  in  the  larger  towns 
open  to  all  who  desired  education.  In  these  reading,  writing, 
and  arithmetic  were  taught,  together  with  "  letters  "  in  a  more 
extended  sense  ;  and  industry  at  such  places  of  instruction  was 
certain  to  be  rewarded  by  opening  to  the  more  advanced  stu- 
dents a  variety  of  situations  and  employments.  Some  of  these 
may  have  been  of  a  humble  character,  and  not  over  well  paid  ; 
but  among  them  were  many  which  to  an  Egyptian  of  the 
middle  class  seemed  very  desirable.  The  posts  under  govern- 
ment occupied  by  scribes  included  some  of  great  importance, 
as  those  of  ambassador,  superintendent  of  storehouses,  registrar 
of  the  docks,  clerk  of  the  closet,  keeper  of  the  royal  library, 
"scribe  of  the  double  house  of  life."  It  is  indicative  of  the 
high  rank  and  position  of  government  scribes,  that  in  the 
court  conspiracy  which  threatened  the  life  of  the  third  Rameses 
as  many  as  six  of  them  were  implicated,  while  two  served  upon 
the  tribunal  before  which  the  criminals  were  arraigned.  If  a 
person  failed  to  obtain  government  appointments,  they  might 
still  hope  to  have  their  services  engaged  by  the  rich  corporations 
which  had  the  management  of  the  temples,  or  by  private  indi- 
viduals of  good  means.  Hence  the  scribe  readily  persuaded 
himself  that  his  occupation  was  above  all  others  —  the  only  one 
which  had  nothing  superior  to  it,  but  was  the  first  and  best  of 
all  human  employments. 

The  great  number  of  persons  who  practiced  medicine  in 
Egypt  is  mentioned  by  Herodotus,  who  further  notices  the 
remarkable  fact  that,  besides  general  practitioners,  there 
were  many  who  devoted  themselves  to  special  branches  of 
medical  science,  some  being  oculists,  some  dentists,  some 
skilled  in  treating  diseases  of  the  brain,  some  those  of  the 
intestines,  and  so  on.  Accoucheurs  also  we  know  to  have 
formed  a  separate  class,  and  to  have  been  chiefly,  if  not  exclu- 
sively women.  The  consideration  in  which  physicians  were 
held  is  indicated  by  the  tradition  which  ascribed  the  com- 
position of  the  earliest  medical  works  to  one  of  the  kings,  as 
well  as  by  the  reputation  for  advanced  knowledge  which  the 
Egyptian  practitioners  early  obtained  in  foreign  countries. 
According  to  a  modern  authority,  they  constituted  a  special 
subdivision  of  the  sacerdotal  order  ;  but  this  statement  is  open 
to  question,  though  no  doubt  some  of  the  priests  were  required 
to  study  medicine. 

A  third  learned  profession  was  that  of  the  architect,  which 


88  LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

in  some  respects  took  precedence  over  any  other.  The  chief 
court  architect  was  a  functionary  of  the  highest  importance, 
ranking  among  the  very  most  exalted  officials.  Considering 
the  character  of  the  duties  intrusted  to  him,  this  was  only 
natural,  since  the  kings  generally  set  more  store  upon  their 
buildings  than  upon  any  other  matter.  "  At  the  time  when 
the  construction  of  the  Pyramids  and  other  tombs,"  says 
Brugsch,  "demanded  artists  of  the  first  order,  we  find  the 
place  of  architect  intrusted  to  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the 
court  of  the  Pharaohs.  The  royal  architects,  the  Murket,  as 
they  were  called,  recruited  their  ranks  not  unfrequently  from 
the  class  of  princes;  and  the  inscriptions  engraved  upon  the 
walls  of  their  tombs  inform  us  that,  almost  without  exception, 
they  married  either  the  daughters  or  the  granddaughters  of  the 
reigning  sovereigns,  who  did  not  refuse  the  Murket  this  honor." 

Though  a  position  of  such  eminence  as  this  could  belong 
only  to  one  man  at  a  time,  it  is  evident  that  the  luster  attach- 
ing to  the  head  of  their  profession  would  be  more  or  less  re- 
flected upon  its  members.  Schools  of  architects  had  to  be 
formed  in  order  to  secure  a  succession  of  competent  persons, 
and  the  chief  architect  of  the  king  was  only  the  most  success- 
ful out  of  many  aspirants,  who  were  educationally  and  socially 
upon  a  par.  Actual  builders,  of  course,  constituted  a  lower 
class,  and  are  compassionated  in  the  poem  above  quoted,  as  ex- 
posed by  their  trade  both  to  disease  and  accident.  But  archi- 
tects ran  no  such  risks  ;  and  the  profession  must  be  regarded 
as  having  enjoyed  in  Egypt  a  rank  and  a  consideration  rarely 
accorded  to  it  elsewhere.  According  to  Diodorus,  the  Egyptians 
themselves  said  that  their  architects  were  more  worthy  of  ad- 
miration than  their  kings.  Such  a  speech  could  hardly  have 
been  made  while  the  independent  monarchy  lasted  and  kings 
were  viewed  as  actual  gods ;  but  it  was  a  natural  reflection  on 
the  part  of  those  who,  living  under  foreign  domination,  looked 
back  to  the  time  when  Egypt  had  made  herself  a  name  among 
the  nations  by  her  conquests,  and  still  more  by  her  great  works. 

At  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  social  scale  were  a  number 
of  contemned  and  ill-paid  employments,  which  required  the 
services  of  considerable  numbers,  whose  lives  must  have  been 
sufficiently  hard  ones.  Dyers,  washermen,  barbers,  gardeners, 
sandal-makers,  blacksmiths,  carpenters,  couriers,  boatmen, 
fowlers,  fishermen,  are  commiserated  by  the  scribe,  Tuauf- 
sakhrat,    as  well  as  farmers,  laborers,    stonecutters,   builderSi 


LIFE  IN   ANCIENT   EGYPT.  89 

armorers,  and  weavers  ;  and  though  he  does  not  often  point 
out  any  sufferings  peculiar  to  those  of  his  own  countrymen 
who  were  engaged  in  these  occupations,  we  may  accept  his 
evidence  as  showing  that,  in  Egypt,  while  they  involved  hard 
work,  they  obtained  but  small  remuneration.  The  very  exist- 
ence, however,  of  so  many  employments  is  an  indication  that 
labor  was  in  request ;  and  we  cannot  doubt  that  industrious 
persons  could  support  themselves  and  their  families  without 
much  difficulty,  even  by  these  inferior  trades.  The  Egyptians, 
even  of  the  lowest  class,  were  certainly  not  crushed  down  by 
penury  or  want;  they  maintained  a  light  heart  under  the 
hardships,  whatever  they  may  have  been,  of  their  lot,  and  con- 
trived to  amuse  themselves  and  to  find  a  good  deal  of  pleasure 
in  existence. 

If  the  boatman,  for  instance,  led  a  laborious  life,  "  doing 
beyond  the  power  of  his  hands  to  do,"  he  had  yet  spirit  enough 
to  enter  into  rivalry  with  his  brother  boatman,  and  to  engage 
in  rude  contests  which  must  have  often  caused  him  a  broken 
head  or  a  ducking.  If  the  fowler  and  the  fisherman  had  some- 
times hard  work  to  make  a  living,  yet  they  had  the  excitement 
which  attaches  to  every  kind  of  sport,  and  from  time  to  time 
were  rewarded  for  their  patient  toil  by  "takes"  of  extraor- 
dinary magnitude.  The  dragnets  and  clapnets  which  they 
used  to  entrap  their  prey  are  frequently  represented  as  crowded 
with  fish  or  birds,  as  many  as  twenty-five  of  the  latter  being 
inclosed  on  some  occasions.  The  fish  were  often  of  large  size, 
so  that  a  man  could  only  just  carry  one  ;  and  though  these 
monsters  were  perhaps  not  in  very  great  request,  they  would 
have  sufficed  to  furnish  three  or  four  meals  to  a  large  family. 
Fish  were  constantly  dried  and  salted,  so  that  the  super- 
abundance of  one  season  supplied  the  deficiency  of  another  ; 
and  even  birds  appear  to  have  been  subjected  to  a  similar 
process,  and  preserved  in  jars,  when  there  was  no  immediate 
sale  for  them. 

An  occupation  held  in  especial  disrepute  was  that  of  the 
swineherd.  According  to  Herodotus,  persons  of  this  class  were 
absolutely  prohibited  from  entering  an  Egyptian  temple,  and 
under  no  circumstances  would  a  man  of  any  other  class  either 
give  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  a  swineherd,  or  take  a  wife 
from  among  them.  This  prejudice  was  connected  with  the 
notion  of  the  pig  being  an  unclean  animal,  which  was  common 
to  the  Egyptians  with  the  Jews,  the  Mohammedans,  and  the 


90  LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

Indians.  If  it  existed  to  the  extent  asserted,  the  swineherds, 
the  Pariahs  of  Egypt,  must  have  approached  nearly  to  the 
character  of  a  caste,  as  intermarrying  wholly  among  themselves, 
and  despised  by  every  other  section  of  the  population. 

But  if  Egyptian  civilization  had  thus  its  victims,  it  had  also 
its  favorites.  There  stood  in  Egypt,  outside  the  entire  num- 
ber of  those  who  either  belonged  to  a  profession  or  exercised  a 
trade  or  calling,  that  upper  class  of  which  we  have  more  than 
once  spoken,  owners  of  a  large  portion  of  the  soil,  and  so  pos- 
sessed of  hereditary  wealth,  not  very  anxious  for  official  employ- 
ment, though  filling  commonly  most  of  the  highest  posts  in  the 
administration,  connected  in  many  instances  more  or  less  closely 
with  the  royal  family,  and  bearing  the  rank  of  suten-reeh  or 
"  princes  "  —  a  class  small,  compared  with  most  others,  but  still 
tolerably  numerous  —  one  which  seemed  born  to  enjoy  existence 
and  "  consume  the  fruits "  of  other  men's  toil  and  industry. 
Such  persons,  as  has  been  said,  "led  a  charmed  life."  Pos- 
sessed of  a  villa  in  the  country,  and  also  commonly  of  a  town 
house  in  the  capital,  the  Egyptian  lord  divided  his  time  between 
the  two,  now  attracted  by  the  splendors  of  the  court,  now  by 
the  simple  charms  of  rural  freedom  and  retirement.  In  either 
case  he  dwelt  in  a  large  house,  amply  and  elegantly  furnished 
—  the  floor  strewn  with  bright-colored  carpets  —  the  rooms 
generally  provided  with  abundant  sofas  and  chairs,  couches, 
tables,  faldstools,  ottomans,  stands  for  flowers,  footstools,  vases, 
etc.  —  household  numerous  and  well  trained,  presided  over  by 
a  major-domo  or  steward,  who  relieved  the  great  man  of  the 
trouble  of  domestic  management.  Attached  to  his  household 
in  some  way,  if  not  actual  members  of  it,  were  "adepts  in  the 
various  trades  conducive  to  his  ease  and  comfort "  —  the  glass 
blower,  the  worker  in  gold,  the  potter,  the  tailor,  the  baker, 
the  sandal-maker. 

With  a  prudent  self-restraint  not  often  seen  among  orien- 
tals, he  limited  himself  to  a  single  wife,  whom  he  made  the 
partner  of  his  cares  and  joys,  and  treated  with  respect  and 
affection.  No  eunuchs  troubled  the  repose  of  his  establishment 
with  their  plots  and  quarrels.  His  household  was  composed  in 
about  equal  proportions  of  male  and  female  servants  ;  his  wife 
had  her  waiting  maid  or  tire-woman,  his  children  their  nurse 
or  nurses  ;  he  himself  had  his  valet,  who  was  also  his  barber. 
The  kitchen  department  was  intrusted  to  three  or  four  cooks 
and  scullions,  who  were  invariably  men,  no  women  (it  would 


LIFE   IN    ANCIENT   EGYPT.  91 

seem)  being  thought  competent  for  such  important  duties. 
One,  two,  or  more  grooms  had  the  charge  of  his  stable,  which 
in  the  early  times  sheltered  no  nobler  animal  than  the  ass,  but 
under  the  New  Empire  was  provided  with  a  number  of  horses. 
A  chariot,  in  which  he  might  take  an  airing,  pay  visits,  or 
drive  a  friend,  was  also  indispensable  in  and  after  the  time  of 
the  eighteenth  dynasty ;  and  the  greater  lords  had,  no  doubt, 
several  of  such  vehicles,  with  coach  houses  for  their  accommo- 
dation. Litters  were  perhaps  used  only  for  the  aged  and 
infirm,  who  were  conveyed  in  them  on  the  shoulders  of 
attendants. 

Egyptian  men  of  all  ranks  shaved  their  heads  and  their 
entire  faces,  except  sometimes  a  portion  of  the  chin,  from  which 
a  short  square  beard  was  allowed  to  depend.  The  barber  was 
in  attendance  on  the  great  lord  every  morning,  to  remove  any 
hair  that  had  grown,  and  trim  his  beard,  if  he  wore  one.  The 
lord's  wig  was  also  under  his  superintendence.  This  consisted 
of  numerous  small  curls,  together  sometimes  with  locks  and 
plaits,  fastened  carefully  to  a  reticulated  groundwork,  which 
allowed  the  heat  of  the  head  free  escape.  The  dress,  even  of 
the  highest  class,  was  simple.  It  consisted,  primarily,  of  the 
shenti  or  kilt,  a  short  garment  folded  or  fluted,  which  was  worn 
round  the  loins,  and  fastened  in  front  with  a  girdle.  The 
material  might  be  linen  or  woolen,  according  to  the  state  of  the 
weather,  or  the  wearer's  inclination.  Over  this  the  great  lord 
invariably  wore  an  ample  robe  of  fine  linen,  reaching  from  the 
shoulders  to  the  ankles,  and  provided  with  full  sleeves,  which 
descended  nearly,  if  not  quite,  to  the  elbows.  A  second  girdle, 
which  may  have  been  of  leather,  confined  the  outer  dress  about 
the  waist.  The  arms  and  lower  parts  of  the  legs  were  left  bare  ; 
and  in  the  earliest  times  the  feet  were  also  bare,  sandals  being 
unknown  ;  but  they  came  into  fashion  at  the  beginning  of  the 
fifth  dynasty,  and  thenceforward  were  ordinarily  worn  by  the 
rich,  whether  men  or  women.  They  were  either  of  leather 
lined  with  cloth,  or  of  a  sort  of  basket  work  composed  of  palm 
leaves  or  the  stalks  of  the  jjapyrus.  The  shape  varied  at  dif- 
ferent periods.  Having  dressed  himself  with  the  assistance  of 
his  valet,  the  Egyptian  lord  put  on  his  ornaments,  which  con- 
sisted commonly  of  a  collar  of  beads  or  a  chain  of  gold  round 
the  neck,  armlets  and  bracelets  of  gold,  inlaid  with  lapis  lazuli 
and  turquoise,  round  the  arms,  anklets  of  the  same  character 
round  the  ankles,  and  rings  upon  the  fingers  of  both  hands 


92  LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

Thus  attired,  the  lord  took  his  hdton  or  stick,  and,  quitting  his 
dressing  room,  made  his  appearance  in  the  salon  or  eating 
apartment. 

Meanwhile  his  spouse  had  performed  her  own  toilet,  which 
was  naturally  somewhat  more  elaborate  than  her  husband's. 
Egyptian  ladies  wore  their  own  hair,  which  grew  in  great 
abundance,  and  must  have  occupied  the  tire-woman  for  a  con- 
siderable period.  A  double-toothed  comb  was  used  for  combing 
it,  and  it  may  also  have  been  brushed,  though  hairbrushes  have 
not  been  discovered.  Ultimately,  it  was  separated  into  numer- 
ous distinct  tresses,  and  plaited  by  threes  into  thirty  or  forty 
fine  plaits,  which  were  then  gathered  into  three  masses,  one 
behind  the  head  and  the  others  at  either  side  of  the  face,  or 
else  were  allowed  to  fall  in  a  single  continuous  ring  round  the 
head  and  shoulders.  After  it  had  been  thus  arranged,  the  hair 
was  confined  by  a  fillet,  or  by  a  headdress  made  to  imitate  the 
wings,  back,  and  tail,  and  even  sometimes  the  head,  of  a  vul- 
ture. On  their  bodies  some  females  wore  only  a  single  gar- 
ment, which  was  a  petticoat,  either  tied  at  the  neck  or  supported 
by  straps  over  the  shoulders,  and  reaching  from  the  neck  or 
breast  to  the  ankles ;  but  those  of  the  upper  class  had,  first, 
over  this,  a  colored  sash  passed  twice  round  the  waist  and  tied 
in  front,  and,  secondly,  a  large  loose  robe,  made  of  the  finest 
linen,  with  full  open  sleeves  reaching  to  the  elbow.  They  wore 
sandals  from  the  same  date  as  the  men,  and  had  similar  orna- 
ments, with  the  addition  of  earrings.  These  often  manifested 
an  elegant  taste,  being  in  the  form  of  serpents  or  terminating 
in  the  heads  of  animals  or  of  goddesses.  The  application  of 
hohl  or  stibium  to  the  eyes  seems  to  have  formed  an  ordinary 
part  of  the  toilet. 

It  is,  unfortunately,  impossible  to  follow  throughout  the  day 
the  husband  and  wife,  with  whose  portraits  we  are  attempting 
to  present  our  readers.  We  do  not  know  the  hours  kept  by 
the  upper  classes  in  Egypt,  nor  the  arrangements  which  pre- 
vailed respecting  their  meals,  nor  the  mode  in  which  a  lady  of 
rank  employed  herself  from  the  time  when  her  morning  toilet 
was  completed  until  the  hour  of  dinner.  We  may  conjecture 
that  she  looked  after  her  servants,  superintended  the  teaching 
of  her  children,  amused  herself  in  her  garden,  or  visited  and 
received  visits  from  her  acquaintance  ;  but  the  evidence  on 
these  various  points  is  scanty,  and  scarcely  sufficient  to  justify 
general  conclusions.     It  is  somewhat  different  with  respect  to 


LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT.  93 

the  men.  The  sculptures  show  us  that  much  of  the  Egyptian 
gentleman's  day  was  spent  in  sports  of  various  kinds  ;  that  he 
indulged  in  fishing  and  fowling,  as  well  as  in  the  chase  of 
various  wild  beasts,  some  of  which  were  sought  as  delicacies  for 
the  table,  while  others  seem  to  have  been  attacked  merely  to 
gratify  that  destructive  instinct  which  urges  men  to  take 
delight  in  field  sports. 

Ponds  commonly  existed  within  the  pleasure  grounds  at- 
tached to  an  Egyptian  country  house,  and  were  often  of  con- 
siderable dimensions.  Formal  in  shape,  to  suit  the  general 
character  of  the  grounds,  they  were  well  stocked  with  a  variety 
of  fish,  and  often  furnished  the  Egyptian  noble  with  a  morn- 
ing's amusement.  The  sport  was  of  a  kind  which  in  these  days 
would  not  be  considered  exciting.  Reclined  upon  a  mat,  or 
seated  on  a  chair,  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  and  with  a  short 
rod  in  his  hand,  apparently  of  one  joint  only,  the  lord  threw 
his  double  or  single  line  into  the  preserved  pool,  and  let  his 
bait  sink  to  the  bottom.  When  he  felt  the  bite  of  a  fish,  he 
jerked  his  line  out  of  the  water,  and  by  this  movement,  if  the 
fish  was  securely  hooked,  he  probably  landed  it ;  if  not,  he  only 
lost  his  labor.  Hooks  were  large  and  strong,  lines  coarse,  fish 
evidently  not  shy ;  there  was  no  fear  of  the  tackle  breaking ; 
and  if  a  few  fish  were  scared  by  the  clumsy  method,  there  were 
plenty  of  others  to  take  their  place  in  a  few  minutes. 

A  less  unskillful  mode  of  pursuing  the  sport  was  by  means 
of  the  fish  spear.  Embarking  upon  his  pond,  or  the  stream 
that  fed  it,  in  a  boat  of  bulrushes,  armed  with  the  proper 
weapon,  and  accompanied  by  a  young  son,  and  by  his  wife  or  a 
sister,  the  lord  would  direct  his  gaze  into  the  water,  and  when 
he  saw  a  fish  passing,  strike  at  him  with  the  barbed  implement. 
If  the  fish  were  near  at  hand,  he  would  not  let  go  of  the 
weapon,  but  if  otherwise,  he  would  throw  it,  retaining  in  his 
grasp  a  string  attached  to  its  upper  extremity.  This  enabled 
him  to  recover  the  spear,  even  if  it  sank,  or  was  carried  down 
by  the  fish  ;  and,  when  his  aim  had  been  true,  it  enabled  him 
to  get  possession  of  his  prize.  Some  spears  had  double  heads, 
both  of  them  barbed;  and  good  fortune,  or  superior  skill, 
occasionally  secured  two  fish  at  once. 

The  fowling  practiced  by  the  Egyptian  gentleman  was  very 
peculiar.  He  despised  nets,  made  no  use  of  hawks  or  falcons, 
and  did  not  even,  except  on  rare  occasions,  have  recourse  to 
the  bow.     He  placed  his  whole  dependence  on  a  missile,  which 


94  LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

has  been  called  a  "  throw  stick "  —  a  thin,  curved  piece  of 
heavy  wood,  from  a  foot  and  a  quarter  to  two  feet  in  length, 
and  about  an  inch  and  a  half  broad.  Gliding  silently  in  a  light 
boat  along  some  piece  of  water,  with  a  decoy  bird  stationed  at 
the  head  of  his  vessel,  trained,  perhaps,  to  utter  its  note,  he 
approached  the  favorite  haunt  of  the  wild  fowl,  which  was 
generally  a  thicket  of  tall  reeds  and  lotuses.  Having  come 
as  close  to  the  game  as  possible,  with  his  throw  stick  in  one 
hand  and  a  second  decoy  bird,  or  even  several,  in  the  other,  he 
watched  for  the  moment  when  the  wild  fowl  rose  in  a  cloud 
above  the  tops  of  the  water-plants,  and  then  flung  his  weapon 
in  among  them.  Supplied  by  a  relative  or  an  attendant  with 
another,  and  again  another,  he  made  throw  after  throw,  not 
ceasing  till  the  last  bird  was  out  of  reach,  or  his  stock  of  throw 
sticks  exhausted.  We  sometimes  see  as  many  as  four  sticks  in 
the  air,  and  another  upon  the  point  of  being  delivered.  Skilled 
sportsmen  seem  to  have  aimed  especially  at  the  birds'  necks, 
since,  if  the  neck  was  struck,  the  bird  was  pretty  sure  to  fall. 
This  sport  seems  to  have  been  an  especial  favorite  with  Egyp- 
tians of  the  upper  class. 

The  chase  of  wild  beasts  involved  more  exertion  than  either 
fishing  or  fowling,  and  required  the  sportsman  to  go  further 
afield.  The  only  tolerable  hunting  grounds  lay  in  the  desert 
regions  on  either  side  of  the  Nile  valley ;  and  the  wealthy 
Egyptians,  who  made  up  their  minds  to  indulge  in  this  pas- 
time, had  to  penetrate  into  these  dreary  tracts,  and  probably 
to  quit  their  homes  for  a  time,  and  camp  out  in  the  desert. 
The  chief  objects  of  pursuit  upon  these  occasions  were  the 
gazelle,  the  ibex,  the  oryx,  and  perhaps  some  other  kinds  of 
antelopes.  The  sportsman  set  out  in  his  chariot,  well  provided 
with  arrows  and  javelins,  accompanied  by  a  number  of  dogs, 
and  attended  by  a  crowd  of  menials,  huntsmen,  beaters,  men 
to  set  the  nets,  provision  and  water  carriers,  and  the  like.  A 
large  space  was  commonly  inclosed  by  the  beaters,  and  all  the 
game  within  it  driven  in  a  certain  direction  by  them  and  the 
hounds,  while  the  sportsman  and  his  friends,  stationed  at  suita- 
ble points,  shot  their  arrows  at  such  beasts  as  came  within  the 
range  of  the  weapon,  or  sought  to  capture  them  by  means  of  a 
long  thong  or  cord  ending  in  a  running  noose.  Nets  were  also 
set  at  certain  narrow  points  in  the  wadys  or  dry  water  courses, 
down  which  the  herd,  when  pressed,  was  almost  sure  to  pass ; 
and  men  were  placed  to  watch  them,  and  slaughter  each  animal 


LIFE   IN   ANCIENT   EGYPT.  95 

as  soon  as  he  was  entangled,  before  he  could  break  his  way 
through  the  obstacle  and  make  his  escape.  When  the  district 
in  which  the  hunt  took  place  was  well  supplied  with  beasts, 
and  the  space  inclosed  by  the  beaters  was  large,  a  curiously 
mixed  scene  presented  itself  towards  the  close  of  the  day.  All 
the  wild  animals  of  the  region,  roused  from  their  several  lairs, 
were  brought  together  within  a  narrow  space,  —  hyenas,  jack- 
als, foxes,  porcupines,  even  ostriches,  held  on  their  way,  side  by 
side  with  gazelles,  hares,  ibexes,  and  antelopes  of  various  de- 
scriptions, —  the  hounds  also  being  intermixed  among  them, 
and  the  hunter  in  his  car  driving  at  speed  through  the  thickest 
of  the  melee^  discharging  his  arrows  right  and  left,  and  bring- 
ing down  the  choicest  game.  Attendants  continually  supplied 
fresh  arrows ;  and  the  work  of  slaughter  probably  went  on  till 
night  put  an  end  to  it,  or  till  the  whole  of  the  game  was  killed 
or  had  made  its  escape. 

Occasionally,  instead  of  antelopes,  wild  cattle  were  the  object 
of  pursuit.  In  this  case,  too,  dogs  were  used,  though  scarcely 
with  much  effect.  The  cattle  were,  most  likely,  either  stalked 
or  laid  in  wait  for,  and,  when  sufificiently  near,  were  either 
lassoed,  or  else  shot  with  arrows,  the  place  aimed  at  being  the 
junction  between  the  neck  and  the  head.  When  the  lasso  was 
employed,  it  was  commonly  thrown  over  one  of  the  horns. 

According  to  one  representation,  the  lion  was  made  use  of 
in  the  chase  of  some  animals,  being  trained  to  the  work,  as  the 
cheeta,  or  hunting  leopard,  is  in  Persia  and  India.  That  the 
Egyptians  tamed  lions  appears  from  several  of  the  sculptures, 
and  is  also  attested  by  at  least  one  ancient  writer ;  but  the  em- 
ployment of  them  in  the  chase  rests  upon  a  single  painting  in 
one  of  the  tombs  at  Beni  Hissar. 

Lions  themselves,  when  in  the  wild  state,  were  sometimes 
hunted  by  the  monarchs  ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  any  Egyp- 
tian subject,  however  exalted  his  rank,  ever  engaged  in  the 
exciting  occupation.  The  lion  was  scarcely  to  be  found  within 
the  limits  of  Egypt  during  any  period  of  the  monarchy,  and 
though  occasionally  to  be  seen  in  the  deserts  upon  the  Egyp- 
tian borders,  yet  could  scarcely  be  reckoned  on  as  likely  to 
cross  his  path  by  a  private  sportsman.  The  kings  who  were 
ambitious  of  the  honor  of  having  contended  with  the  king  of 
beasts,  could  make  hunting  expeditions  beyond  their  borders, 
and  have  a  whole  province  ransacked  for  the  game  of  which 
they  were  in  search.     Even  they,  however,  seem  very  rarely  to 


96  LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

have  aspired  so  high  ;  and  there  is  but  one  representation  of  a 
lion  hunt  in  the  Egyptian  sculptures. 

A  similarly  exceptional  character  attached  to  the  chase  of 
the  elephant  by  the  Egyptians.  One  monarch  on  one  occasion 
only,  when  engaged  in  an  expedition  which  took  him  deep  into 
Asia,  "  hunted  a  hundred  and  twenty  elephants  on  account  of 
their  tusks."  Here  a  subject  had  the  good  fortune  to  save  his 
royal  master  from  an  attack  made  upon  him  by  the  leading,  or 
"  rogue,"  elephant  of  the  herd,  and  to  capture  the  brute  after 
inflicting  a  wound  upon  its  trunk. 

The  pursuit  of  the  hippopotamus  and  the  crocodile  was,  on 
the  contrary,  a  favorite  and  established  practice  with  Egyptian 
sportsmen.  The  hippopotamus  was  hunted  as  injurious  to  the 
crops,  on  which  it  both  fed  and  trampled  by  night,  while  at  the 
same  time  it  was  valued  for  its  hide,  which  was  regarded  as 
the  best  possible  material  for  shields,  helmets,  and  javelins.  It 
appears  to  have  been  thought  better  to  attack  it  in  the  water 
than  upon  the  land,  perhaps  because  its  struggles  to  escape 
would  then  be,  comparatively  speaking,  harmless.  Spears,  with 
strings  attached  to  them,  were  thrown  at  it ;  and  when  these 
had  taken  effect,  it  was  drawn  to  the  surface,  and  its  head  en- 
tangled in  a  strong  noose,  by  which  it  could  be  dragged  ashore ; 
or,  if  this  attempt  failed,  it  was  allowed  to  exhaust  itself  by 
repeated  rushes  and  plunges  in  the  stream,  the  hunters  "  play- 
ing "  it  the  while  by  reels  attached  to  the  strings  that  held  their 
spears,  and  waiting  till  it  was  spent  by  fatigue  and  loss  of 
blood,  when  they  wound  up  their  reels,  and  brought  their  booty 
to  land. 

There  were  two  modes  of  chasing  the  crocodile.  Sometimes 
it  was  speared,  like  the  hippopotamus,  and  was  then  probably 
killed  in  much  the  same  way ;  but  another  method  was  also 
adopted,  which  is  thus  described  by  Herodotus  :  "  They  bait  a 
hook  with  a  chine  of  pork,  and  let  the  meat  be  carried  out  into 
the  middle  of  the  stream,  while  the  hunter  on  the  bank  holds  a 
live  pig,  which  he  belabors.  The  crocodile,  hearing  its  cries, 
makes  for  the  sound,  and  encounters  the  pork,  which  he  in- 
stantly swallows  down.  The  men  on  the  shore  haul,  and  when 
they  have  got  him  to  land,  the  first  thing  the  hunter  does  is  to 
plaster  his  eyes  with  mud.  This  once  accomplished,  the  animal 
is  dispatched  with  ease  ;  otherwise  he  gives  much  trouble." 
Very  similar  modes  to  both  of  these  are  still  in  use  on  the  Nile. 

It  is,  of  course,  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  Egyptian  of  high 


LIFE  IN   ANCIENT  EGYPT.  97 

rank  was  so  enamored  of  the  chase  as  to  devote  to  it  all  the 
time  that  he  spent  in  the  country.  There  would  be  days  on 
which  he  inspected  his  farm,  his  cattle  stalls,  his  live  stock,  his 
granaries,  his  wine  presses,  his  olive  presses,  moving  from  place 
to  place,  probably,  on  his  favorite  ass,  and  putting  questions  to 
his  laborers.  There  would  be  others  on  which  he  received  his 
steward,  went  through  his  accounts,  and  gave  such  directions 
as  he  thought  necessary ;  others  again  on  which  his  religious 
duties  occupied  him,  or  on  which  he  received  the  general  homage 
of  his  subordinates.  His  life  would  be  in  many  ways  varied. 
As  a  local  magnate,  he  might  be  called  upon  from  time  to  time 
to  take  part  in  the  public  business  of  his  nome.  He  might  have 
civil  employment  thrust  upon  him,  since  no  one  could  refuse  an 
office  or  a  commission  assigned  him  by  the  king.  He  might 
even  find  himself  called  upon  to  conduct  a  military  expedition. 
But,  apart  from  these  extraordinary  distractions,  he  would  have 
occupations  enough  and  to  spare.  Amid  alternations  of  busi- 
ness and  pleasure,  of  domestic  repose  and  violent  exercise,  of 
town  and  country  life,  of  state  and  simplicity,  he  would  scarcely 
find  his  time  hang  heavy  on  his  hands,  or  become  a  victim  to 
ennui.  An  extensive  literature  was  open  to  him,  if  he  cared 
to  read ;  a  solemn  and  mysterious  religion,  full  of  awe-inspiring 
thoughts,  and  strc'xhing  on  to  things  beyond  the  grave,  claimed 
his  attention  ;  he  had  abundant  duties,  abundant  enjoyments. 
Though  not  so  happy  as  to  be  politically  free,  there  was  small 
danger  of  his  suffering  oppression.  He  might  look  forward  to 
a  tranquil  and  respected  old  age ;  and  even  in  the  grave  he 
would  enjoy  the  attentions  and  religious  veneration  of  those 
whom  he  left  behind  him. 

Among  the  duties  continually  devolving  on  him,  the  most 
important  were  those  of  charity  and  of  hospitality.  It  was 
absolutely  incumbent  upon  him,  if  he  would  pass  the  dread 
ordeal  in  the  nether  world,  that  during  this  life  he  should  be 
careful  "  to  give  bread  to  the  hungry,  drink  to  the  thirsty, 
clothes  to  the  naked,  oil  to  the  wounded,  and  burial  to  the 
dead."  It  was  also  incumbent  on  him,  in  the  general  opinion 
of  those  with  whom  he  lived,  that  he  should  show  towards  men 
of  his  own  class  a  free  and  open-handed  hospitality.  For  this 
purpose  it  was  necessary  that,  both  in  the  town  and  in  the 
country,  he  should  provide  his  friends  with  frequent  grand 
entertainments.  With  a  description  of  one  of  these  we  may 
terminate  our  account. 


98  LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

The  preparations  for  an  entertainment  had  to  commence 
some  days  previously.  Game  had  to  be  procured,  professionals 
engaged,  extra  attendants  hired,  a  stock  of  fresh  flowers  and 
perhaps  of  unguents  laid  in.  Great  activity  prevailed  in  the 
kitchen  ;  confectionery  was  prepared,  spices  pounded,  maca- 
roni made,  cooking  utensils  scoured,  the  larder  stored  with 
provisions.  The  reception  rooms  were  then  arranged  for 
guests,  chairs  being  placed  in  rows  or  groups,  extra  carpets  and 
mats  strewn  about,  flowers  put  into  the  vases,  and  the  house 
generally  decorated.  When  the  guests  began  to  arrive,  they 
were  first  of  all  received  in  the  vestibule  by  attendants,  who 
presented  them  with  bouquets,  placed  garlands  of  lotus  upon 
their  heads,  and  sometimes  collars  of  lotus  round  their  necks, 
anointed  their  hair  with  unguents,  and  offered  them  wine  or 
other  beverages.  At  this  time  the  visitors  commonly  sat  on 
the  floor,  probably  for  the  convenience  of  those  who  had  to 
anoint  and  adorn  them.  Having  received  these  attentions,  the 
guests,  ladies  and  gentlemen  intermixed,  passed  on  to  the  main 
apartment,  where  they  were  greeted  by  their  host  and  hostess, 
and  begged  to  take  their  seats  on  the  chairs  and  fauteuils  which 
had  been  arranged  for  them.  Here  more  refreshments  were 
handed  round,  more  flowers  offered,  while  the  guests,  generally 
in  pairs,  but  sometimes  in  groups,  conversed  ■'  ne  with  another. 
Music  was  now  commonly  introduced,  sometimes  accompanied 
by  dancing,  the  performers  in  both  arts  being  professionals,  and 
the  dancing  girls  being  nearly,  if  not  quite,  naked.  Sometimes, 
at  the  same  party,  there  would  be  two  bands,  who,  we  may  sup- 
pose, played  alternately.  Pet  animals,  dogs,  gazelles,  or  mon- 
keys, might  be  present,  and  the  young  children  of  the  house  in 
some  instances  gave  animation  to  the  scene,  and  enlivened  the 
entertainment  with  their  prattle.  As  it  was  not  customary  for 
children  under  ten  or  twelve  years  of  age  to  wear  any  clothes, 
the  nudity  of  the  dancing  girls  might  seem  less  strange  and  less 
indelicate. 

It  is  possible  that  on  some  occasions  the  music,  dancing,  and 
light  refreshments  constituted  the  whole  of  the  entertainment, 
and  that  the  guests  after  a  while  took  their  departure  without 
any  formal  meal  being  served  ;  but  more  often  the  proceedings 
above  described  were  the  mere  prelude  to  the  real  piece,  and 
the  more  important  part  followed.  Round  tables,  loaded  with 
a  great  variety  of  delicacies,  as  joints  of  meat,  geese,  ducks,  and 
waterfowl  of  different  kinds,  cakes,  pastry,  fruit,  and  the  like, 


Ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Philae 


LIFE  IN   ANCIENT   EGYPT.  99 

are  seen  interspersetl  among  the  guests,  to  whom  no  doubt  the 
dishes  were  handed  in  succession,  and  who  must  have  helped 
themselves,  as  Orientals  commonly  do,  with  their  hands. 
Knives  and  forks,  spoons  for  eating  with,  even  plates,  were  an 
unknown  luxury  ;  the  guest  took  what  his  hands  could  manage, 
and  after  eating  either  dipped  them  in  water,  or  wiped  them 
with  a  napkin  brought  him  by  an  attendant.  The  dishes 
offered  him  would  include  probably  two  or  three  kinds  of  fish ; 
meat,  generally  beef,  boiled,  roasted,  and  dressed  in  various 
ways ;  venison  and  other  game  ;  geese,  ducks,  or  waterfowl ; 
vegetables  in  profusion,  as  especially  lentils,  endives,  and  cu- 
cumbers ;  pastry,  cakes,  and  fruits  of  twenty  kinds,  particularly 
grapes  and  figs.  To  quench  his  thirst,  he  would  be  supplied 
with  frequent  draughts  of  wine  or  beer,  the  wine  probably 
diluted  with  water. 

Herodotus  tells  us  that  it  was  customary,  when  the  feast  was 
over,  for  an  attendant  to  bring  in  a  wooden  mummied  form, 
from  a  foot  and  a  half  to  three  feet  long,  painted  to  resemble  a 
corpse,  and  to  show  it  to  each  guest  in  turn,  with  the  words : 
"  Gaze  here,  and  drink  and  be  merry ;  for  when  you  die,  such 
will  you  be."  If  the  expressions  used  are  rightly  reported,  we 
must  suppose  the  figure  brought  in  when  the  eating  was  ended 
and  the  drinking  began,  with  the  object  of  stimulating  the 
guests  to  greater  conviviality  ;  but  if  this  were  so,  the  custom 
had  probably  lost  its  original  significance  when  Herodotus 
visited  Egypt,  since  it  must  (one  would  think)  have  been  in- 
tended at  the  first  to  encourage  seriousness,  and  check  undue 
indulgence,  by  sobering  thoughts  concerning  death  and  judg- 
ment  to  come.  The  Egyptians  were  too  much  inclined  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  table,  and  certainly  required  no  stimulus  to 
drinking.  Both  gentlemen  and  ladies  not  unfrequently  in- 
dulged to  excess.  The  custom  mentioned  by  Herodotus,  and 
alluded  to  also  by  Plutarch,  can  only  have  proceeded  from  the 
priests,  who  doubtless  wished,  as  guardians  of  the  public  moral- 
ity, to  check  the  intemperance  which  they  were  unable  to  pre- 
vent altogether. 

After  the  banquet  was  entirely  ended,  music  and  singing 
were  generally  resumed,  and  sometimes  tumblers  or  jugglers, 
both  male  and  female,  were  introduced,  and  feats  of  agility 
were  gone  through  with  much  dexterity  and  grace.  The 
women  played  with  three  balls  at  a  time,  keeping  two  con- 
stantly in  the  air;  or  made  somersaults  backwards;  or  sprang 


100  LIFE  IN   ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

off  the  ground  to  the  height  of  several  feet.  The  men  wres- 
tled, or  pirouetted,  or  stood  on  their  heads,  or  walked  up  each 
other's  backs,  or  performed  other  tricks,  and  feats  of  strength. 
Occasionally,  games  seem  to  have  been  played.  As  the  kings 
themselves  in  their  leisure  hours  did  not  disdain  to  play 
draughts  with  their  favorites,  so  it  may  be  presumed  that  the 
Egyptian  lord  and  his  guest  would  sometimes  relieve  the 
tedium  of  a  long  evening  by  the  same  or  some  similar  amuse- 
ment. Chess  does  not  appear  to  have  been  known  ;  but  a  game 
resembling  draughts,  one  like  the  modern  morra^  and  several 
which  cannot  be  identified,  certainly  were ;  and,  though  there 
is  more  evidence  of  their  being  in  favor  with  the  lower  than 
with  the  higher  orders,  yet  it  can  scarcely  be  supposed  that  the 
royal  example  was  not  imitated  by  many  among  the  nobles. 

In  conclusion  it  may  be  observed  that  Egyptian  society  under 
the  Pharaohs,  if  in  many  respects  it  was  not  so  advanced  in 
cultivation  and  refinement  as  that  of  Athens  in  the  time  of 
Pericles,  was  in  some  points  both  more  moral  and  more  civil- 
ized. Neither  the  sculptures  nor  the  literary  remains  give  any 
indication  of  the  existence  in  Egypt  of  that  degrading  vice 
which  in  Greece  tainted  all  male  society  from  the  highest  grade 
to  the  lowest,  and  constituted  "a  great  national  disease,"  or 
"moral  pestilence."  Nor  did  courtesans,  though  occasionally 
they  attained  to  a  certain  degree  of  celebrity  among  the  Egyp- 
tians, ever  exercise  that  influence  which  they  did  in  Greece 
over  art,  literature,  and  even  politics.  The  relations  of  the 
sexes  were  decidedly  on  a  better  footing  in  Egypt  than  at 
Athens,  or  most  other  Greek  towns.  Not  only  was  polygamy 
unknown  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  Nile  valley,  and  even 
licensed  concubinage  confined  to  the  kings,  but  woman  took 
her  proper  rank  as  the  friend  and  companion  of  man,  was  never 
secluded  in  a  harem,  but  constantly  made  her  appearance  alike 
in  private  company  and  in  the  ceremonies  of  religion,  possessed 
equal  rights  with  man  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  was  attached  to 
temples  in  a  quasi-sacerdotal  character,  and  might  even  ascend 
the  throne  and  administer  the  government  of  the  country. 
Women  were  free  to  attend  the  markets  and  shops ;  to  visit 
and  receive  company  both  male  and  female  ;  to  join  in  the  most 
sacred  religious  services ;  to  follow  the  dead  to  the  grave  ;  and 
to  perform  their  part  in  the  sepulchral  sacrifices. 

In  arrangements  with  respect  to  education  they  seem  also 
to  have  attained  a  point  not  often  reached  by  the  nations  of 


LIFE  IN  ANCIENT  EGYPT.  101 

antiquity.  If  the  schools  wherein  scribes  obtained  their  in- 
struction were  really  open  to  all,  and  the  career  of  scribe  might 
be  pursued  by  any  one,  whatever  his  birth,  then  it  must  be  said 
that  Egypt,  notwithstanding  the  general  rigidity  of  her  insti- 
tutions, provided  an  open  career  for  talent,  such  as  scarcely 
existed  elsewhere  in  the  old  world,  and  such  as  few  modern 
communities  can  be  said  even  yet  to  furnish.  It  was  always 
possible  under  despotic  governments  that  the  capricious  favor 
of  the  sovereign  should  raise  to  a  high,  or  even  to  the  highest, 
position  the  lowest  person  in  the  kingdom.  But  in  Egypt, 
alone  of  all  ancient  States,  does  a  system  seem  to  have  been 
established,  whereby  persons  of  all  ranks,  even  the  lowest,  were 
invited  to  compete  for  the  royal  favor,  and,  by  distinguishing 
themselves  in  the  public  schools,  to  establish  a  claim  for  em- 
ployment in  the  public  service.  That  employment  once  ob- 
tained, their  future  depended  on  themselves.  Merit  secured 
promotion  ;  and  it  would  seem  that  the  efficient  scribe  had  only 
to  show  himself  superior  to  his  fellows,  in  order  to  rise  to  the 
highest  position  but  one  in  the  empire. 


THE   EGYPTIAN   HUSBANDMAN. 

By  CHARLES  ROLLIN. 

[Charles  Rollin:  A  French  historian;  born  January,  1661.  He  was  Pro- 
fessor of  Rhetoric  at  the  College  du  Plessis  and  later  at  the  College  du  France. 
He  revived  the  study  of  Greek  and  made  reforms  in  the  system  of  education. 
He  published  in  1727  a  work  on  the  Study  of  Belles-Lettres ;  in  1738  a  History 
of  Rome ;  and  from  1730  to  1738  his  still  famous  and  readable  "Ancient  His- 
tory." He  died  in  1741.  He  is  an  excellent  gossip  and  story-teller,  of  un- 
bounded credulity ;  and  it  is  diverting  to  find  his  sole  bit  of  skepticism  excited, 
in  the  following  passage,  by  a  real  and  commonplace  fact.] 

Husbandmen,  shepherds,  and  artificers  formed  the  three 
classes  of  lower  life  in  Egypt,  but  were  nevertheless  had  in 
very  great  esteem,  particularly  husbandmen  and  shepherds. 
The  body  politic  requires  a  superiority  and  subordination  of 
its  several  members ;  for  as  in  the  natural  body  the  eye  may 
be  said  to  hold  the  first  rank,  yet  its  luster  does  not  dart  con- 
tempt upon  the  feet,  the  hands,  or  even  on  those  parts  which 
are  less  honorable ;  in  like  manner,  among  the  Egyptians,  the 
priests,  soldiers,  and  scholars  were  distinguished  by  particular 
honors ;  but  all  professions,  to  the  meanest,  had  their  share  in 


102  THE  EGYPTIAN  HUSBANDMAN. 

the  public  esteem,  because  the  despising  of  any  man,  whose 
labors,  however  mean,  were  useful  to  the  state,  was  thought  a 
crime. 

A  better  reason  than  the  foregoing  might  have  inspired 
them  at  the  first  with  these  sentiments  of  equity  and  modera- 
tion, which  they  so  long  preserved.  As  they  all  descended 
from  Ham,  their  common  father,  the  memory  of  their  still 
recent  origin,  occurring  to  the  minds  of  all  in  those  first  ages, 
established  among  them  a  kind  of  equality,  and  stamped,  in 
their  opinion,  a  nobility  on  every  person  derived  from  the  com- 
mon stock.  Indeed,  the  difference  of  conditions,  and  the  con- 
tempt with  which  persons  of  the  lowest  rank  are  treated,  are 
owing  merely  to  the  distance  from  the  common  root,  which 
makes  us  forget,  that  the  meanest  plebeian,  when  his  descent  is 
traced  back  to  the  source,  is  equally  noble  with  the  most 
elevated  rank  and  title. 

Be  that  as  it  will,  no  profession  in  Egypt  was  considered  as 
groveling  or  sordid.  By  this  means  arts  were  raised  to  their 
highest  perfection.  The  honor  which  cherished  them  mixed 
with  every  thought  and  care  for  their  improvement.  Every 
man  had  his  way  of  life  assigned  him  by  the  laws,  and  it  was 
perpetuated  from  father  to  son.  Two  professions  at  one  time, 
or  a  change  of  that  which  a  man  was  born  to,  were  never 
allowed.  By  this  means,  men  became  more  able  and  expert  in 
employments  which  they  had  always  exercised  from  their 
infancy;  and  every  man,  adding  his  own  experience  to  that 
of  his  ancestors,  was  more  capable  of  attaining  perfection  in 
his  particular  art.  Besides,  this  wholesome  institution,  which 
had  been  established  anciently  throughout  Egypt,  extinguished 
all  irregular  ambition,  and  taught  every  man  to  sit  down 
contented  with  his  condition,  without  aspiring  to  one  more 
elevated,  from  interest,  vainglory,  or  levity. 

From  this  source  flowed  numberless  inventions  for  the 
improvement  of  all  the  arts,  and  for  rendering  life  more  commo- 
dious, and  trade  more  easy.  I  could  not  believe  that  Diodorus 
was  in  earnest  in  what  he  relates  concerning  the  Egyptian 
industry,  viz.  :  that  this  people  had  found  out  a  way,  by  an 
artificial  fecundity,  to  hatch  eggs  without  the  sitting  of  the 
hen;  but  all  modern  travelers  declare  it  to  be  a  fact,  which 
certainly  is  worthy  our  curiosity  and  is  said  to  be  practiced  in 
some  places  of  Europe.  Their  relations  inform  us,  that  the 
Egyptians  stow  eggs   in    ovens,  which   are   heated  to  such  a 


THE  EGYPTIAN  HUSBANDMAN.  103 

temperature,  and  witli  such  just  proportion  to  the  natural 
warmth  of  the  hen,  that  the  chickens  produced  from  these 
means  are  as  strong  as  those  which  are  hatched  the  natural 
way.  The  season  of  the  year  proper  for  this  operation  is  from 
the  end  of  December  to  the  end  of  April,  the  heat  in  Egypt 
being  too  violent  in  the  other  months.  During  these  four 
months,  upwards  of  three  hundred  thousand  eggs  are  laid  in 
these  ovens,  which,  though  they  are  not  all  successful,  never- 
theless produce  vast  numbers  of  fowls  at  an  easy  rate.  The  art 
lies  in  giving  the  ovens  a  due  degree  of  heat,  which  must  not 
exceed  a  fixed  proportion.  About  ten  days  are  bestowed  in 
heating  these  ovens,  and  very  near  as  much  time  in  hatching 
the  eggs.  It  is  very  entertaining,  say  these  travelers,  to 
observe  the  hatching  of  these  chickens,  some  of  which  show  at 
first  nothing  but  their  heads,  others  but  half  their  bodies,  and 
others  again  come  quite  out  of  the  egg  ;  these  last,  the  moment 
they  are  hatched,  make  their  way  over  the  unhatched  eggs,  and 
form  a  diverting  spectacle.  Corneille  le  Bruyn,  in  his  Travels, 
has  collected  the  observations  of  other  travelers  on  this  sub- 
ject. Pliny  likewise  mentions  it ;  but  it  appears  from  him, 
that  the  Egyptians,  anciently,  employed  warm  dung,  not  ovens, 
to  hatch  eggs. 

I  have  said,  that  husbandmen  particularly,  and  those  who 
took  care  of  flocks,  were  in  great  esteem  in  Egypt,  some  parts 
of  it  excepted,  where  the  latter  were  not  suifered.  It  was, 
indeed,  to  these  two  professions  that  Egypt  owed  its  riches 
and  plenty.  It  is  astonishing  to  reflect  what  advantages  the 
Egyptians,  by  their  art  and  labor,  drew  from  a  country  of  no 
great  extent,  but  whose  soil  was  made  wonderfully  fruitful  by 
the  inundations  of  the  Nile,  and  the  laborious  industry  of  the 
inhabitants.  It  will  be  always  so  with  every  kingdom  whose 
governors  direct  all  their  actions  to  the  public  welfare.  The 
culture  of  lands,  and  the  breeding  of  cattle,  will  be  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  wealth  in  all  countries  where  these  profitable 
callings  are  supported  and  encouraged  by  maxims  of  state  policy. 
[This  was  a  topical  allusion  to  the  doctrines  of  the  "  Physio- 
crats," the  French  economic  reformers  of  the  mid-18th  century, 
who  held  that  as  all  wealth  is  derived  from  agricultural  sur- 
plus, agriculture  should  bear  all  the  taxes  and  receive  compen- 
sating state  favors.  The  government  eagerly  adopted  the  first 
proposition,  forgot  the  second,  and  gave  the  Revolution  another 
impetus.] 


104  PRECEPTS  OF  PTAH-HOTEP. 


THE   PRECEPTS   OF   PTAH-HOTEP.  — THE   OLDEST 
BOOK   YET   DISCOVERED. 

About  2500  B.C. 

Be  not  arrogant  because  of  that  which  thou  knowest ;  deal 
with  the  ignorant  as  with  the  learned  ;  for  the  barriers  of  art 
are  not  closed,  no  artist  being  in  possession  of  the  perfection 
to  which  he  should  aspire. 

If  thou  findest  a  disputant  while  he  is  hot,  and  if  he  is  supe- 
rior to  thee  in  ability,  lower  the  hands,  bend  the  back,  do  not 
get  into  a  passion  with  him.  As  he  will  not  let  thee  destroy 
his  words,  it  is  utterly  wrong  to  interrupt  him  ;  that  proclaims 
that  thou  art  incapable  of  keeping  thyself  calm,  when  thou  art 
contradicted. 

If  then  thou  hast  to  do  with  a  disputant  while  he  is  hot, 
imitate  one  who  does  not  stir.  Thou  hast  the  advantage  over 
him  if  thou  keepest  silence  when  he  is  uttering  evil  words. 
"  The  better  of  the  two  is  he  who  is  impassive,"  say  the  by- 
standers, and  thou  art  right  in  the  opinion  of  the  great. 

If  thou  findest  a  disputant  while  he  is  hot,  do  not  despise 
him  because  thou  art  not  of  the  same  opinion.  Be  not  angry 
against  him  when  he  is  wrong ;  away  with  such  a  thing.  He 
fights  against  himself ;  require  him  not  further  to  flatter  thy 
feelings.  Do  not  amuse  thyself  with  the  spectacle  which  thou 
hast  before  thee ;  it  is  odious,  mean,  [the  part]  of  a  despicable 
soul. 

If  thou  hast,  as  leader,  to  decide  on  the  conduct  of  a  great 
number  of  men,  seek  the  most  perfect  manner  of  doing  so,  that 
thy  own  conduct  may  be  without  reproach.  Justice  is  great, 
invariable,  and  assured ;  it  has  not  been  disturbed  since  the  age 
of  Osiris.  To  throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  laws,  is  to 
open  the  way  before  violence.  Shall  that  which  is  below  gain 
the  upper  hand,  if  the  unjust  does  not  attain  to  the  place  of 
justice  ?  even  he  who  says :  I  take  for  myself,  of  my  own  free 
will ;  but  says  not :  I  take  by  virtue  of  my  authority.  The 
limitations  of  justice  are  invariable. 

Inspire  not  men  with  fear,  else  God  will  fight  against  thee 
in  the  same  manner.  If  any  one  asserts  that  he  lives  by  such 
means  [extortion  by  threats],  God  will  take  away  the  bread 
from  his  mouth ;  if  any  one  asserts  that  he  enriches  himself 


PRECEPTS   OF   PTAH-HOTEP.  105 

thereby,  God  says  :  I  may  take  these  riches  to  myself.  If  any 
one  asserts  that  he  beats  others,  God  will  end  by  reducing  him 
to  impotence.  Let  no  one  inspire  men  with  fear,  this  is  the 
will  of  God.  Let  one  provide  sustenance  for  them  in  the  lap 
of  peace  ;  it  will  then  be  that  they  will  freely  give  what  has 
been  torn  from  them  by  terror. 

If  thou  art  among  the  persons  seated  at  meat  in  the  house 
of  a  greater  man  than  thyself,  take  that  which  he  gives  thee, 
bowing  to  the  ground.  Regard  that  which  is  placed  before 
thee,  but  point  not  at  it ;  regard  it  not  freciuently ;  he  is  a 
blameworthy  person  who  departs  from  this  rule.  Speak  not  to 
the  great  man  more  than  he  requires,  for  one  knows  not  what 
may  be  displeasing  to  him.  Speak  when  he  invites  thee  and 
thy  word  will  be  pleasing. 

As  for  the  great  man  who  has  plenty  of  means  of  existence, 
his  conduct  is  as  he  himself  wishes.  He  does  that  which 
pleases  him  ;  if  he  desires  to  repose,  he  realizes  his  intention. 
The  great  man  stretching  forth  his  hand  does  that  to  which 
other  men  do  not  attain.  But  as  the  means  of  existence  are 
under  the  will  of  God,  one  cannot  rebel  against  it. 

If  thou  art  one  of  those  who  bring  the  messages  of  one 
great  man  to  another,  conform  thyself  exactly  to  that  where- 
with he  has  charged  thee :  perform  for  him  the  commission  as 
he  hath  enjoined  thee.  Beware  of  altering  in  speaking  the 
offensive  words  which  one  great  person  addresses  to  another  : 
he  who  perverts  the  truthfulness  of  his  way,  in  order  to  repeat 
only  what  produces  pleasure  in  the  words  of  every  man,  great 
or  small,  is  a  detestable  person. ^ 

If  thou  abasest  thyself  in  obeying  a  superior,  thy  conduct 
is  entirely  good  before  God.  Knowing  who  ought  to  obey  and 
who  ought  to  command,  do  not  lift  up  thy  heart  against  him. 
As  thou  knowest  that  in  him  is  authority,  be  respectful  towards 
him  as  belonging  to  him. 

Be  active,  during  the  time  of  thy  existence,  doing  more 
than  is  commanded.  Do  not  spoil  the  time  of  thy  activity; 
he  is  a  blameworthy  person  who  makes  a  bad  use  of  his  mo- 
ments. Do  not  lose  the  daily  opportunity  of  increasing  that 
which  thy  house  possesses.  Activity  produces  riches,  and  riches 
do  not  endure  when  it  slackens. 

If  thou  art  employed  in  the  larit^  stand  or  sit  rather  than 
walk  about.  Lay  down  rules  for  thyself  from  the  first :  not  to 
absent  thyself  even  when  weariness  overtakes  thee.     Keep  an 


106  PRECEPTS   OF  PTAH-HOTEP. 

eye  on  him  who  enters  announcing  that  what  he  asks  is  secret  -, 
what  is  intrusted  to  thee  is  above  appreciation,  and  all  con- 
trary argument  is  a  matter  to  be  rejected. 

If  thou  art  a  leader  of  peace,  listen  to  the  discourse  of  the 
petitioner.  Be  not  abrupt  with  him  ;  that  would  trouble  him. 
Say  not  to  him  :  "Thou  hast  [already]  recounted  this."  In- 
dulgence will  encourage  him  to  accomplish  the  object  of  his 
coming.  As  for  being  abrupt  with  the  complainant  because 
he  described  what  passed  when  the  injury  was  done,  instead  of 
complaining  of  the  injury  itself,  let  it  not  be !  The  way  to 
obtain  a  clear  explanation  is  to  listen  with  kindness. 

If  thou  desirest  to  excite  respect  within  the  house  thou 
enterest,  keep  thyself  from  making  advances  to  a  woman,  for 
there  is  nothing  good  in  so  doing.  There  is  no  prudence  in 
taking  part  in  it,  and  thousands  of  men  destroy  themselves  in 
order  to  enjoy  a  moment,  brief  as  a  dream,  while  they  gain 
death,  so  as  to  know  it.  It  is  a  villainous  intention  that  of 
a  man  who  thus  excites  himself ;  if  he  goes  on  to  carry  it  out, 
his  mind  abandons  him.  For  as  for  him  who  is  without  repug- 
nance for  such  an  act,  there  is  no  good  sense  at  all  in  him. 

If  thou  desirest  that  thy  conduct  should  be  good  and  pre- 
served from  all  evil,  keep  thyself  from  every  attack  of  bad 
humor.  It  is  a  fatal  malady  which  leads  to  discord,  and  there 
is  no  longer  any  existence  for  him  who  gives  way  to  it.  For 
it  introduces  discord  between  fathers  and  mothers,  as  well  as 
between  brothers  and  sisters ;  it  causes  the  wife  and  the  hus- 
band to  hate  each  other ;  it  contains  all  kinds  of  wickedness, 
it  embodies  all  kinds  of  wrong. 

Be  not  of  an  irritable  temper  as  regards  that  which  happens 
beside  thee ;  grumble  not  over  thy  own  affairs.  Be  not  of  an 
irritable  temper  in  regard  to  thy  neighbors ;  better  is  a  compli- 
ment to  that  which  displeases  than  rudeness.  It  is  wrong  to 
get  into  a  passion  with  one's  neighbors,  to  be  no  longer  master 
of  one's  words.  When  there  is  only  a  little  irritation,  one  cre- 
ates for  oneself  an  affliction  for  the  time  when  one  will  again 
be  cool. 

If  thou  art  wise,  look  after  thy  house  ;  love  thy  wife  with- 
out alloy.  Fill  her  stomach,  clothe  her  back,  these  are  the 
cares  to  be  bestowed  on  her  person.  Caress  her,  fulfill  her 
desires  during  the  time  of  her  existence ;  it  is  a  kindness  which 
does  honor  to  its  possessor.  Be  not  brutal  ;  tact  will  influence 
her  better  than  violence.     Behold  to  what  she  aspires,  at  what 


PRECEPTS  OF   PTAH-HOTEP.  107 

she  aims,  what  she  regards.  It  is  that  which  fixes  her  in  thy 
house  ;  if  thou  repellest  her,  it  is  an  abyss.  Open  thy  arms 
for  her,  respondent  to  her  arms  ;  call  her,  display  to  her  thy 
love. 

Treat  thy  dependants  well,  in  so  far  as  it  belongs  to  thee : 
it  belongs  to  those  whom  God  has  favored.  As  we  do  not 
know  the  events  which  may  happen  to-morrow,  he  is  a  wise 
person  by  whom  one  is  well  treated.  When  there  comes  the 
necessity  of  showing  zeal,  it  will  then  be  the  dependants  them- 
selves wlio  say,  "  Come  on,  come  on,"  if  good  treatment  has 
not  quitted  the  place ;  if  it  has  quitted  it,  the  dependants  are 
defaulters. 

Do  not  repeat  any  extravagance  of  language ;  do  not  listen 
to  it ;  it  is  a  thing  which  has  escaped  from  a  hasty  mouth.  If 
it  is  repeated,  look  towards  the  earth  without  hearing  it ;  say 
nothing  in  regard  to  it.  Cause  him  who  speaks  to  thee  to 
know  what  is  just,  even  him  who  provokes  to  injustice ;  cause 
that  which  is  just  to  be  done,  cause  it  to  triumph.  As  for  that 
which  is  hateful  according  to  the  law,  condemn  it  by  unveil- 
ing it. 

If  thou  art  a  wise  man,  sitting  in  the  council  of  thy  lord, 
direct  thy  thought  towards  that  which  is  wise.  Be  silent 
rather  than  scatter  thy  words.  When  thou  speakest,  know 
that  which  can  be  brought  against  thee.  To  speak  in  the 
council  is  an  art,  and  speech  is  criticised  more  than  any  other 
labor ;  it  is  contradiction  which  puts  it  to  the  proof. 

If  thou  art  powerful,  respect  knowledge  and  calmness  of 
language.  Command  only  to  direct ;  to  be  absolute  is  to  run 
into  evil.  Let  not  thy  heart  be  haughty,  neither  let  it  be  mean. 
Do  not  let  thy  orders  remain  unsaid,  and  cause  thy  answers  to 
penetrate ;  but  speak  without  heat,  assume  a  serious  counte- 
nance. As  for  the  vivacity  of  an  ardent  heart,  temper  it ;  the 
gentle  man  penetrates  all  obstacles.  He  who  agitates  himself 
all  the  day  long  has  not  a  good  moment ;  and  he  who  amuses 
himself  all  the  day  long  keeps  not  his  fortune. 

Disturb  not  a  great  man  ;  weaken  not  the  attention  of  him 
who  is  occupied. 

Compose  thy  face  even  in  trouble  :  these  are  the  people  who 
succeed  in  what  they  desire. 

Teach  others  to  render  homage  to  a  great  man.  If  thou 
gatherc'st  the  crop  for  him  among  men,  cause  it  to  return  fully 
to  its  owner,  at  whose  hands  is  thy  subsistence.     But  the  gift 


108  PRECEPTS  OF  PTAH-HOTEP. 

of  affection  is  worth  more  than  the  provisions  with  which  thy 
back  is  covered.  Cause  those  about  thee  to  be  loving  and 
obedient. 

If  thou  art  a  son  [deputy]  of  the  guardians  deputed  to 
watch  over  the  public  tranquillity,  execute  thy  commission 
without  knowing  [asking  the  reason],  and  speak  with  firmness. 
Substitute  not  for  that  which  the  instructor  has  said,  what  thou 
believest  to  be  his  intention.  The  great  use  words  as  it  suits 
them  :  thy  part  is  to  transmit  rather  than  to  comment  upon. 

If  thou  art  annoyed  at  a  thing,  if  thou  art  tormented  by 
some  one  who  is  acting  within  his  right,  get  out  of  his  sight, 
and  remember  him  no  more  when  he  has  ceased  to  address 
thee.  [That  is,  bear  no  rancor  after  having  been  deservedly 
blamed.] 

If  thou  hast  become  great  after  having  been  little,  if  thou 
hast  become  rich  after  having  been  poor,  when  thou  art  at  the 
head  of  the  city  know  how  not  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact 
that  thou  hast  reached  the  first  rank,  harden  not  thy  heart 
because  of  thy  elevation  :  thou  art  become  only  the  steward  of 
the  good  things  of  God.  Put  not  behind  thee  the  neighbor 
who  is  like  unto  thee ;  be  unto  him  as  a  companion. 

Bend  thy  back  before  thy  superior.  Thou  art  attached  to 
the  palace  of  the  king ;  thy  house  is  established  in  its  fortune, 
and  thy  profits  are  as  is  fitting.  Yet  a  man  is  annoyed  at  hav- 
ing an  authority  above  himself,  and  passes  the  period  of  life  in 
being  vexed  thereat.  "  Do  not  plunder  the  house  of  thy  neigh- 
bors, seize  not  by  force  the  goods  which  are  beside  thee." 
Exclaim  not  then  against  that  which  thou  hearest,  and  do  not 
feel  humiliated.  It  is  necessary  to  reflect  when  one  is  hin- 
dered by  it  that  the  pressure  of  authority  is  felt  also  by  one's 
neighbor.  1 

If  thou  aimest  at  polished  manners,  call  not  him  whom  thou 
accostest  [loudly?].  Converse  with  him  especially  in  such  a 
way  as  not  to  annoy  him.  Enter  on  a  discussion  with  him  only 
after  having  left  him  time  to  saturate  his  mind  with  the  subject 
of  the  conversation.  If  he  lets  his  ignorance  display  itself,  and 
if  he  gives  thee  an  opportunity  to  disgrace  him,  treat  him  with 
courtesy  rather ;  proceed  not  to  drive  him  into  a  corner ;  do 

1  This  sheds  a  curious  light  on  the  difficulties  of  early  government.  As  in 
all  times  of  feudal  turbulence,  the  officers  of  State,  chiefly  great  nobles,  are 
aggrieved  at  the  king's  hindering  them  from  laying  hands  on  anything  they 
choose. 


PRECEPTS   OF   PTAH-HOTEP.  109 

not  [suggest  ?]  the  word  to  him  ;  answer  not  in  a  crushing 
manner  ;  crush  him  not ;  worry  him  not ;  in  order  that  in  his 
turn  he  may  not  return  to  the  subject,  but  depart  to  the  profit 
of  thy  conversation. 

Let  thy  countenance  be  cheerful  during  the  time  of  thy 
existence.  When  we  see  one  departing  from  the  storehouse 
who  has  entered  in  order  to  bring  his  share  of  provision,  with 
his  face  contracted,  it  shows  that  his  stomach  is  empty  and 
that  authority  is  offensive  to  him.  Let  not  that  happen  to 
thee. 

Recognize  those  who  are  faithful  to  thee  when  thou  art  in 
low  estate.  Thy  merit  then  is  worth  more  than  those  who  did 
thee  honor.  Look  only  at  that  which  is  a  man's  own.  That 
is  of  more  importance  than  his  high  rank ;  for  this  is  a  matter 
which  passes  from  one  to  another.  The  merit  of  one's  son  is 
advantageous  to  the  father,  and  that  which  he  really  is  is  worth 
more  than  the  remembrance  of  his  father's  rank. 

Distinguish  from  the  workman  the  superintendent  who  di- 
rects, for  manual  labor  is  little  elevated  ;  the  inaction  of  the 
hands  is  honorable.  If  a  man  is  not  in  the  evil  way,  that  which 
places  him  there  is  the  want  of  subordination  to  authority. 

If  thou  takest  a  wife,  let  her  be  more  contented  than  any  of 
her  fellow-citizens.  She  will  be  attached  to  thee  doubly,  if  her 
chain  is  pleasant.  Do  not  repel  her ;  grant  that  which  pleases 
her ;  it  is  to  her  contentment  that  she  appreciates  thy  direction. 

As  for  the  man  without  experience  who  listens  not,  he 
effects  nothing  whatsoever.  He  sees  knowledge  in  ignorance, 
profit  in  loss ;  he  commits  all  kinds  of  error,  always  accord- 
ingly choosing  the  contrary  of  what  is  praiseworthy.  He 
lives  on  that  which  is  mortal. 

Let  thy  thoughts  be  abundant,  let  thy  mouth  be  under  re- 
straint, and  thou  slialt  argue  with  the  great.  Put  thyself  in 
unison  with  the  ways  of  thy  master.  Apply  thyself  while  thou 
speakest ;  speak  only  of  perfect  things. 

Do  that  which  thy  master  bids  thee.  What  he  tells  us,  let 
it  be  fixed  in  our  heart ;  to  satisfy  him  greatly,  let  us  do  for 
him  more  than  he  has  prescribed.  Verily  a  good  son  [pupil], 
who  does  better  than  he  has  been  told,  is  one  of  the  gifts  of 
God. 


110  THE   EGYPTIAN   JUDGMENT   DAY. 

THE   EGYPTIAN   JUDGMENT    DAY. 

(From  the  "  Book  of  the  Dead,"  edited  by  F.  A.  Wallis  Budge.) 

Though  the  chapters  of  the  "  Book  of  the  Dead  "  represent 
beliefs  belonging  to  various  periods  of  the  long  life  of  the 
Egyptian  nation,  and  opinions  held  by  several  schools  of 
thought  in  Egypt,  the  object  of  them  all  was  to  benefit  the 
deceased.  They  were  intended  to  give  him  the  power  to  liave 
and  to  enjoy  life  everlasting,  to  give  him  everything  which  he 
required  in  the  life  beyond  the  gra»ve,  to  insure  his  victory 
over  his  foes,  to  procure  for  him  the  power  of  going  whither- 
soever he  pleased,  and  when  and  how  he  pleased,  to  preserve 
the  munnny  intact,  and  finally  to  enable  his  soul  to  enter  into 
the  bark  of  Ra  or  into  whatever  abode  of  the  blessed  had  been 
conceived  of  by  him. 

The  Judgment  Scene  consists  of  three  parts  :  Introduction, 
Negative  Confession,  and  Concluding  Text.  The  Introduction 
was  said  by  the  deceased  at  tlie  entrance  to  the  Hall  of  double 
Maati,  the  Negative  Confession  was  recited  by  liim  before  the 
forty-two  gods  who  sat  in  judgment  upon  him  in  this  hall,  and 
the  Concluding  Text  was  uttered  by  him  when  he  had  passed 
the  ordeal  of  judgment  and  was  beginning  his  new  life.  It  is 
probable  that  these  three  texts  were  originally  merely  versions 
each  of  the  other,  but  in  the  eighteenth  dynasty  they  are  all 
copied  together  into  papyri.  The  deceased  first  asserted  that 
he  had  not  committed  certain  sins ;  he  next  addressed  forty- 
two  gods  by  their  names,  and  declared  before  each  that  he  had 
not  committed  the  special  sin  which  it  was  the  duty  of  the  god 
to  punish  ;  and  lastly  he  makes  a  third  confession,  the  first 
part  of  which  is  practically  in  the  same  words  as  a  portion  of 
the  Introduction.  The  Introduction  provided  the  passwords 
which  enabled  him  to  enter  tlie  hall,  and  the  Concluding  Text 
provided  those  which  enabled  him  to  go  forth  from  it.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  when  or  how  this  beautiful  chapter,  with  its 
lofty  conceptions  of  morality,  grew  ;  but  although  the  form  in 
which  these  are  set  forth  is  not  older  than  the  eighteenth 
dynasty,  the  ideas  themselves  belong  to  a  period  which  is  as 
old  as  the  rule  of  the  kings  of  the  third  dynasty. 

From  the  Negative  Confession  we  see  that  the  pious  Egyp- 
tian abhorred  fraud,  theft,  deceit,  robbery  with  violence,  iniquity 


THE  EGYPTIAN  JUDGMENT  DAY.  Ill 

of  every  kind,  adultery,  unchastity  and  sins  of  wantonness,  man- 
slaughter, murder,  incitement  to  murder,  and  that  he  delighted 
in  showing  he  had  wronged  none  in  any  way.  He  neither  pur- 
loined the  things  which  belonged  to  his  god,  nor  did  he  slay 
the  sacred  animals;  he  thought  not  lightly  of  the  god  of  his 
city,  and  he  never  cursed  him.  He  honored  his  king,  and  he 
neither  wasted  his  neighbor's  plowed  lands  nor  defiled  his 
running  stream.  He  spake  not  haughtily,  he  behaved  not  in- 
solently, he  multiplied  not  his  speech  overmuch,  he  abused  no 
man,  he  attacked  no  man,  he  swore  not  at  all,  he  stirred  not 
up  strife,  he  terrified  no  man,  he  was  not  a  man  of  wrath,  he 
spake  evil  of  none,  and  he  never  pried  into  matters  to  make 
mischief.  He  judged  not  hastily,  he  defrauded  not  his  neigh- 
bor in  the  market,  he  shut  not  his  ears  to  the  words  of  right 
and  truth,  he  sought  not  honors,  he  never  gave  way  to  anger 
except  for  a  proper  cause,  and  he  sought  not  to  enrich  himself 
at  the  expense  of  his  neighbors.  It  is  difficult  to  give  the 
exact  shades  of  meaning  of  many  of  the  words  in  this  Confes- 
sion, but  the  general  sense  is  thoroughly  well  made  out ;  the 
Egyptian  code  of  morals,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  one  hundred 
and  twenty-fifth  chapter,  was  the  grandest  and  most  compre- 
hensive of  those  now  known  to  have  existed  among  the  nations 
of  antiquity. 

The  reader  will  seek,  and  seek  in  vain,  for  many  of  the  at- 
tributes of  the  prayers  of  Christian  nations,  and  it  is  a  notice- 
able fact  that  the  Egyptian  had  no  conception  of  repentance  ;  ^ 
at  the  Judgment  which  took  place  in  the  Hall  of  Osiris,  he 
based  his  claim  for  admission  into  the  kingdom  of  that  god 
upon  the  fact  that  he  had  not  committed  certain  sins,  and  that 
he  had  feared  God  and  honored  the  king,  and  had  given  bread 
to  the  hungry,  drink  to  the  thirsty,  clothes  to  the  naked,  and  a 
boat  to  him  that  had  suffered  shipwreck  on  the  Nile. 

The  Inteoduction. 

The  following  shall  be  said  when  the  overseer  of  the  palace,  the 
Chancellor  in  chief,  Nu,  triumphant,  cometh  forth  into  the  Hall  of 
double  Maati,  so  that  we  may  be  separated  from  every  sin  which  he 

1  This  seems  to  us  an  entire  misconception  :  the  Negative  Confession  is  so 
sweeping  a  denial  of  all  wrong  that  no  soul  could  ever  make  it  truthfully  if  it 
were  not  understood  to  mean,  "  Or  if  I  have  done  any  of  these  things,  I  repent 
them  utterly."  Otherwise  not  a  soul  would  ever  have  passed  the  hall.  —  Ed. 
Westminster  Library. 


112  THE  EGYPTIAN   JUDGMENT  DAY. 

hath  done  and  may  behold  the  Faces  of  the  Gods.  The  Osiris  Nu, 
triumphant,  saith :  — 

"  Homage  to  thee,  0  Great  God,  thou  Lord  of  double  Maati,  I 
have  come  to  thee,  0  my  Lord,  and  I  have  brought  myself  hither 
that  I  may  behold  thy  beauties.  I  know  thee,  and  I  know  thy  name, 
and  I  know  the  names  of  the  two  and  forty  gods  who  exist  with  thee 
in  this  Hall  of  double  Maati,  who  live  as  warders  of  sinners,  and  who 
feed  upon  their  blood  on  the  day  when  the  lives  of  men  are  taken 
into  account  in  the  presence  of  the  God  Un-nef er  ;  in  truth  '  Rekhti- 
merti-neb-Maati '  [i.e.  "  twin  sisters  with  two  eyes,  ladies  of  double 
Maati "]  is  thy  name.  In  truth  I  have  come  to  thee,  and  I  have 
brought  Maati  [i.e.  right  and  truth]  to  thee,  and  I  have  destroyed 
wickedness  for  thee. 

"  I  have  not  done  evil  to  mankind. 

"  I  have  not  oppressed  the  members  of  my  family. 

"  I  have  not  wrought  evil  in  the  place  of  right  and  truth. 

"  I  have  had  no  knowledge  of  worthless  men. 

"  I  have  not  wrought  evil. 

"  I  have  not  made  to  be  the  first  consideration  of  each  day  that 
excessive  labor  should  be  performed  for  me. 

"  I  have  not  brought  forward  my  name  for  exaltation  to  honors. 

"  I  have  not  ill  treated  servants.    I  have  not  thought  scorn  of  God. 

"  I  have  not  defrauded  the  oppressed  one  of  his  property. 

"  I  have  not  done  that  which  is  an  abomination  unto  the  gods. 

"  I  have  not  caused  harm  to  be  done  to  the  servant  by  his  chief. 

"  I  have  not  caused  pain. 

"  I  have  made  no  man  to  suffer  hunger. 

"  I  have  made  no  one  to  weep. 

"  I  have  done  no  murder. 

"  I  have  not  given  the  order  for  murder  to  be  done  for  me. 

"  I  have  not  inflicted  pain  upon  mankind. 

"  I  have  not  defrauded  the  temples  of  their  oblations. 

"  I  have  not  purloined  the  cakes  of  the  gods. 

"  I  have  not  carried  off  the  cakes  offered  to  the  khus. 

"  I  have  not  committed  fornication. 

"  I  have  not  polluted  myself  in  the  holy  places  of  the  god  of  my 
city,  nor  diminished  from  the  bushel. 

"  I  have  neither  added  to  nor  filched  away  land. 

"  I  have  not  encroached  upon  the  fields  of  others. 

"  I  have  not  added  to  the  weights  of  the  scales  [to  cheat  the 
seller].  I  have  not  misread  the  pointer  of  the  scales  [to  cheat  the 
buyer].  I  have  not  carried  away  the  milk  from  the  mouths  of 
children. 

"I  have  not  driven  away  the  cattle  which  were  upon  their 
pastures. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  JUDGMENT  DAY.  113 

"  I  have  not  snared  the  feathered  fowl  of  the  preserves  of  the 

gods. 

"  I  have  not  caught  fish  with  bait  made  of  fish  of  their  kind. 

"  I  have  not  turned  back  the  water  at  the  time  when  it  should 
flow. 

"  I  have  not  cut  a  cutting  in  a  canal  of  running  water. 

"  I  have  not  extinguished  a  fire  [or  light]  when  it  should  burn. 

"I  have  not  violated  the  times  of  offering  the  chosen  meat 
offerings. 

"  I  have  not  driven  off  the  cattle  from  the  property  of  the  gods. 

"  I  have  not  repulsed  God  in  his  manifestations. 

"  I  am  pure.     I  am  pure.     I  am  pure.     I  am  pure. 

"My  purity  is  the  purity  of  that  great  Bennu  which  is  in  the  city 
of  Sutenheneu  [Heracleopolis] ;  for  behold,  I  am  the  nose  of  the  God 
of  the  winds,  who  maketh  all  mankind  to  live  on  the  day  when  the 
Eye  [Utchat]  of  Ea  is  full  in  Annu  [Heliopolis]  at  the  end  of  the 
second  month  of  the  season  Pert  [i.e.  the  season  of  growing]  [in 
the  presence  of  the  divine  lord  of  this  earth].  I  have  seen  the  Eye 
of  Ea  when  it  was  full  in  Annu ;  therefore  let  not  evil  befall  me  in 
this  land  and  in  this  Hall  of  double  Maati ;  because  I,  even  I,  know 
the  names  of  these  gods  who  are  therein,  and  who  are  the  followers 
of  the  great  god." 

Text  :  The  scribe  Bebensi,  triumphant,  saith  :  — 

1.  "  Hail,  thou  whose  strides  are  long,  who  comest  forth  from 
Annu  [Heliopolis],  I  have  not  done  iniquity. 

2.  "  Hail,  thou  who  art  embraced  by  flame,  who  comest  forth 
from  Kher-aba,  I  have  not  robbed  with  violence. 

3.  "Hail,  thou  divine  Nose  [Fenti],  who  comest  forth   from 
Khemennu  [Hermopolis],  I  have  not  done  violence  [to  any  man]. 

4.  "  Hail,  thou  who  eatest  shades,  who  comest  forth  from  the 
place  where  the  Nile  riseth,  I  have  not  committed  theft. 

5.  "  Hail,  Neha-hau,  who  comest  forth  from  Ee-stau,  I  have  not 
slain  man  or  woman. 

6.  "  Hail,  thou  double  Lion-god,  who  comest  forth  from  heaven, 
I  have  not  made  light  the  bushel. 

7.  "  Hail,  thou  whose  two  eyes  are  like  flint,  who  comest  forth 
from  Sekhem  [Letopolis],  I  have  not  acted  deceitfully. 

8.  "  Hail,  thou  flame,  who  comest  forth  as  thou  goest  back,  I 
have  not  purloined  the  things  which  belong  unto  God. 

9.  "  Hail,  thou  Crusher  of  bones,  who  comest  forth  from  Suten- 
benen  [Heracleopolis],  I  have  not  uttered  falsehood. 

10.  "  Hail,  thou  who  makest  the  flame  to  wax  strong,  who  comest 
forth  from  Het-ka-Ptah  [Memphis],  I  have  not  carried  away  food. 

11.  "  Hail,  Qerti  [i.e.  the  two  sources  of  the  Nile],  who  come 
forth  from  Amentet,  I  have  not  uttered  evil  words. 


114  THE  EGYPTIAN  JUDGMENT  DAY. 

12.  "  Hail,  thou  whose  teeth  shine,  who  comest  forth  from  Tashe 
[i.e.  the  Fayyum],  I  have  attacked  no  man. 

13.  "  Hail,  thou  who  dost  consume  blood,  who  comest  forth  from 
the  house  of  slaughter.  I  have  not  killed  the  beasts  [which  are  the 
property  of  God]. 

14.  "  Hail,  thou  who  dost  consume  the  entrails,  who  comest  forth 
from  the  nabet  chamber,  I  have  not  acted  deceitfully. 

15.  "  Hail,  thou  God  of  Right  and  Truth,  who  comest  forth  from 
the  city  of  double  Maati,  I  have  not  laid  waste  the  lands  which  have 
been  plowed  (?). 

16.  "  Hail,  thou  who  goest  backwards,  who  comest  forth  from  the 
city  of  Bast  [Bubastis],  I  have  never  pried  into  matters  [to  make 
mischief].  _ 

17.  "  Hail,  Aati,  who  comest  forth  from  Annu  [Heliopolis],  I 
have  not  set  my  mouth  in  motion  [against  any  mau]. 

18.  "  Hail,  thou  who  art  doubly  evil,  who  comest  forth  from  the 
nome  of  Xti,  I  have  not  given  way  to  wrath  concerning  myself  with- 
out a  cause. 

19.  "Hail,  thou  Serpent  Uamemti,  who  comest  forth  from  the 
house  of  slaughter,  I  have  not  defiled  the  wife  of  a  man. 

20.  "  Hail,  thou  who  lookest  upon  what  is  brought  to  him,  who 
comest  forth  from  the  Temple  of  Amsu,  I  have  not  committed  any 
sin  against  purity. 

21.  "  Hail,  Chief  of  the  divine  Princes,  who  comest  forth  from 
the  city  of  Nehatu,  I  have  not  struck  fear  [into  any  man]. 

22.  "  Hail,  Khemiu  [i.e.  Destroyer],  who  comest  forth  from  the 
Lake  of  Kaui,  I  have  not  encroached  upon  [sacred  times  and  sea- 
sons]. 

23.  "Hail,  thou  who  orderest  speech,  who  comest  forth  from 
Urit,  I  have  not  been  a  man  of  anger. 

24.  "  Hail,  thou  Child,  who  comest  forth  from  the  Lake  of  Heq-at, 
I  have  not  made  myself  deaf  to  the  words  of  right  and  truth. 

25.  "■  Hail,  thou  disposer  of  speech,  who  comest  forth  from  the 
city  of  Unes,  I  have  not  stirred  up  strife. 

26.  "  Hail,  Basti,  who  comest  forth  from  the  Secret  city,  I  have 
made  [no  man]  to  weep. 

27.  "  Hail,  thou  whose  face  is  [turned]  backwards,  who  comest 
forth  from  the  Dwelling,  I  have  not  committed  acts  of  impurity, 
neither  have  I  lain  with  men. 

28.  "  Hail,  Leg  of  fire,  who  comest  Scith  frcm  Zkhekhu,  I  have 
not  eaten  my  heart  [nursed  rancor]. 

29.  "  Hail,  Kenemti,  who  comest  forth  from  [the  city  of]  Kene- 
met,  I  have  abused  [no  man]. 

30.  "  Hail,  thou  who  bringest  thine  offering,  who  comest  forth 
from  the  city  of  Sau  [Sais],  I  have  not  acted  with  violence. 


THE   EGYPTIAN  JUDGMENT  DAT.  115 

31.  "  Hail,  thou  god  of  faces,  who  comest  forth  from  the  city  ot 
Tchefet,  1  liave  not  judged  hastily. 

32.  "  Hail,  thou  who  givest  knowledge,  who  comest  forth  from 
Unth,  I  have  not  .  .  .  ,  and  I  have  not  taken  vengeance  upon  the  god. 

33.  "  Hail,  thou  lord  of  two  horns,  who  comest  forth  from  Satiu, 
I  have  not  multiplied  speech  overmuch. 

34.  ''Hail,  Nefer-Tem,  who  comest  forth  from  Het-ka-Ptah 
[Memphis],  I  have  not  acted  with  deceit,  and  I  have  not  worked 
wickedness. 

35.  "Hail,  Tera-Sep,  who  comest  forth  from  Tattu,  I  have  not 
uttered  curses  [on  the  king]. 

36.  "  Hail,  thou  whose  heart  doth  labor,  who  comest  forth  from 
the  city  of  Tebti,  I  have  not  fouled  (?)  water. 

37.  "  Hail,  Ahi  of  the  water,  who  comest  forth  from  Nu,  I  have 
not  made  haughty  my  voice. 

38.  "  Hail,  thou  who  givest  commands  to  mankind,  who  comest 
forth  from  Sau  (?),  I  have  not  cursed  the  god. 

39.  "Hail,  Neheb-uefert,  who  comest  forth  from  the  Lake  of 
Nefer  (?)  I  have  not  behaved  with  insolence. 

40.  "  Hail,  Neheb-kau  who  comest  forth  from  [thy]  city,  I  have 
not  sought  for  distinctions. 

41.  "  Hail,  thou  whose  head  is  holy,  who  comest  forth  from  [thy] 
habitations,  I  have  not  increased  my  wealth,  except  with  such  things 
as  are  [justly]  mine  own  possessions. 

42.  "  Hail,  thou  who  bringest  thine  own  arm,  who  comest  forth 
from  Aukert  [underworld],  I  have  not  thought  scorn  of  the  god  who 
is  in  my  city." 

Address  to  the  Gods  of  the  Underworld. 

Text.  [Then  shall  the  heart  which  is  righteous  and  sinless 
say :  — ] 

The  overseer  of  the  palace,  the  Chancellor  in  chief,  Nu,  trium- 
phant, saith :  — 

"Homage  to  you,  0  ye  gods  who  dwell  in  the  Hall  of  double 
Maati,  I,  even  I,  know  you,  and  I  know  your  names.  Let  me  not 
fall  under  your  knives  of  slaughter,  and  bring  ye  not  forward  my 
wickedness  unto  the  god  in  whose  train  ye  are ;  and  let  not  evil  hap 
come  upon  me  by  your  means.  0  declare  ye  me  right  and  true  in 
the  presence  of  Neb-er-tcher,  because  I  have  done  that  which  is 
right  and  true  in  Ta-mera  [Egypt].  I  have  not  cursed  God,  and  let 
not  evil  hap  come  on  me  through  the  king  who  dwelleth  in  my  day. 

"Homage  to  you,  0  ye  gods,  who  dwell  in  the  Hall  of  double 
Maati,  who  are  without  evil  in  your  bodies,  and  who  Hve  upon  right 
and  truth,  and  who  feed  yourselves  upon  right  and  truth  in  the 
presence  of  the  god  Horus,  who  dwelleth  in  his  divine  Disk:  de- 


116  THE  TOMBS  OF  THE  KINGS. 

liver  ye  me  from  the  god  Baba  who  feedeth  upon  the  entrails  of  the 
mighty  ones  upon  the  day  of  the  great  judgment.  0  grant  ye  that 
I  may  come  to  you,  for  I  have  not  committed  faults,  I  have  not 
sinned,  I  have  not  doue  evil,  I  have  not  borne  false  witness ;  there- 
fore let  nothing  [evil]  be  done  unto  me. 

"  I  live  upon  right  and  truth,  and  I  feed  upon  right  and  truth. 
I  have  performed  the  commandments  of  men  [as  well  as]  the  things 
whereat  are  gratified  the  gods,  I  have  made  the  god  to  be  at  peace 
[with  me  by  doing]  that  which  is  his  will.  I  have  given  bread  to 
the  hungry  man,  and  water  to  the  thirsty  man,  and  apparel  to  the 
naked  man,  and  a  boat  to  the  [shipwrecked]  mariner.  I  have  made 
holy  offerings  to  the  gods,  and  sepulchral  meals  to  the  khus.  Be 
ye  then  my  deliverers,  be  ye  then  my  protectors,  and  make  ye  not 
accusation  against  me  in  the  presence  of  [the  great  god]. 

"I  am  clean  of  mouth  and  clean  of  hands;  therefore  let  it  be 
said  unto  me  by  those  who  shall  behold  me,  '  Come  in  peace  ;  come 
in  peace,'  for  I  have  heard  that  mighty  word  which  the  spiritual 
bodies  [sahu]  spake  unto  the  Cat  in  the  House  of  Hapt-re.  I  have 
been  made  to  give  evidence  before  the  god  Hra-f-ha-f  [I'.e.  he  whose 
face  is  behind  him],  and  he  hath  given  a  decision  [concerning  me]. 
I  have  seen  the  things  over  which  the  persea  tree  spreadeth  [its 
branches]  within  Re-stau.  I  am  he  who  hath  offered  up  prayers  to 
the  gods  and  who  knowest  their  persons.  I  have  come  and  I  have 
advanced  to  make  the  declaration  of  right  and  truth,  and  to  set  the 
balance  upon  what  supporteth  it  within  the  region  of  Aukert. 

"Hail,  thou  who  art  exalted  upon  thy  standard,  thou  lord  of 
the  Atefu  crown,  whose  name  is  proclaimed  as  '  Lord  of  the  winds,' 
deliver  thou  me  from  thy  divine  messengers  who  cause  dire  deeds 
to  happen,  and  who  cause  calamities  to  come  into  being,  and  who  are 
without  coverings  for  their  faces,  for  I  have  done  that  which  is  right 
and  true  for  the  Lord  of  right  and  truth.  I  have  purified  myself 
and  my  breast  with  libations,  and  my  hinder  parts  with  the  things 
which  make  clean,  and  my  inner  parts  have  been  in  the  pool  of  right 
and  truth.  There  is  no  single  member  of  mine  which  lacketh  right 
and  truth." 


THE   TOMBS   OF  THE   KINGS. 

By  MATHILDE  BLIND. 

[1847-1896.] 

Where  the  mummied  Kings  of  Egypt,  wrapped  in  linen  fold  on  fold, 
Couched  for  ages  in  their  coffins,  crowned  with  crowns  of  dusky  gold, 

Lie  in  subterranean  chambers,  biding  to  the  day  of  doom, 
Counterfeit  life's  hollow  semblance  in  each  mazy  mountain  tomb, 


THE   TOMBS   OF   THE   KINGS.  117 

Grisly  in  their  gilded  coffins,  mocking  masks  of  skin  and  bone, 
Yet  remain  in  change  iinchanging,  balking  Nature  of  her  own ; 

]\Iured  in  mighty  Mausoleums,  walled  in  from  the  night  and  day, 
Lo,  the  mortal  Kings  of  Egypt  hold  immortal  Death  at  bay. 

YoT  —  so  spake  the  Kings  of  Egypt  —  those  colossal  ones  whose  hand 
Held  the  peoples  from  Pitasa  to  the  Kheta's  conquered  land ; 

Who,  with  flash  and  clash  of  lances  and  war  chariots,  stormed  and  won 
Many  a  town  of  stiff-necked  Syria  to  high-towering  Askalon : 

"  We  have  been  the  faithful  stewards  of  the  deathless  gods  on  high  ; 
We  have  built  them  starry  temples  underneath  the  starry  sky. 

"We  have  smitten  rebel  nations,  as  a  child  is  whipped  with  rods: 
We  the  living  incarnation  of  imperishable  gods. 

"  Shall  we  suffer  Death  to  trample  us  to  nothingness  ?  and  must 
We  be  scattered,  as  the  whirlwind  blows  about  the  desert  dust  ? 

"  No  !  Death  shall  not  dare  come  near  us,  nor  Corruption  shall  not  lay 
Hands  upon  our  sacred  bodies,  incorruptible  as  day. 

"  Let  us  put  a  bit  and  bridle,  and  rein  in  Time's  headlong  course ; 
Let  us  ride  him  through  the  ages  as  a  master  rides  his  horse. 

"  On  the  changing  earth  unchanging  let  us  bide  till  Time  shall  end. 
Till,  reborn  in  blest  Osiris,  mortal  with  Immortal  blend." 

Yea,  so  spake  the  Kings  of  Egypt,  they  whose  lightest  word  was  law. 
At  whose  nod  the  far-off  nations  cowered,  stricken  dumb  with  awe. 

And  Fate  left  the  haughty  rulers  to  work  out  their  monstrous  doom  ; 
And,  embalmed  with  myrrh  and  ointments,  they  were  carried  to  the 
tomb; 

Through  the  gate  of  Bab-el-Molouk,  where  the  sulphur  hills  lie  bare, 
Where  no  green  thing  casts  a  shadow  in  the  noon's  tremendous  glare ; 

Where  the  unveiled  Blue  of  heaven  in  its  bare  intensity 
Weighs  upon  the  awe-struck  spirit  with  the  world's  immensity ; 

Through  the  Vale  of  Desolation,  where  no  beast  or  bird  draws  breath, 
To  the  Coffin  Hills  of  Tuat— the  Metropolis  of  Death. 


118  THE  TOMBS  OF   THE  KINGS. 

Down — down  —  down   into  the  darkness,  where,  on  either  hand, 

dread  fate 
In  the  semblance  of  a  serpent,  watches  by  the  dolorous  gate ; 

Down  —  down  —  down  into  the  darkness,  where  no  gleam  of  sun  or 

star 
Sheds  its  purifying  radiance  from  the  living  world  afar ; 

Where  in  labyrinthine  windings,  darkly  hidden,  down  and  down, — 
Proudly  on  his  marble  pillow,  with  old  Egypt's  double  crown. 

And  his  mien  of  cold  commandment,  grasping  still  his  staff  of  state. 
Rests  the  mightiest  of  the  Pharaohs,  whom  the  world  surnamed  the 
great. 

Swathed  in  fine  Sidonian  linen,  crossed  hands  folded  on  the  breast, 
There  the  mummied  Kings  of  Egypt  lie  within  each  painted  chest. 

And  upon  their  dusky  foreheads  Pleiades  of  flaming  gems. 
Glowing  through  the  nether  darkness,  flash  from  luminous  diadems. 

Where  is  Memphis  ?    Like  a  Mirage,  melted  into  empty  air : 
But  these  royal  gems  yet  sparkle  richly  on  their  raven  hair. 

Where  is  Thebes  in  all  her  glory,  with  her  gates  of  beaten  gold  ? 
Where  Syene,  or  that  marvel,  Heliopolis  of  old  ? 

Where  is  Edfu  ?     Where  Abydos  ?    Where  those  pillared  towns  of 

yore 
Whose  auroral  temples  glittered  by  the  Nile's  thick-peopled  shore  ? 

Gone  as  evanescent  cloudlands.  Alplike  in  the  afterglow ; 

But  these  Kings  hold  fast  their  bodies  of  four  thousand  years  ago. 

Sealed  up  in  their  Mausoleums,  in  the  bowels  of  the  hills, 

There  they  hide  from  dissolution  and  Death's  swiftly  grinding  mills. 

Scattering  fire,  Urseus  serpents  guard  the  Tombs'  tremendous  gate ; 
While  Troth  holds  the  trembling  balance,  weighs  the  heart  and  seals 
its  fate. 

And  a  multitude  of  mummies  in  the  swaddling  clothes  of  death. 
Ferried  o'er  the  sullen  river,  on  and  on  still  hasteneth. 

And  around  them  and  above  them,  blazoned  on  the  rocky  walls, 
Crowned  with  stars,  enlaced  by  serpents,  in  divine  processionr^'^ 


Building  of  the  Pyramids 

From  the  painting  by-  G.  Richter,  in  the  Gallery  at  Munich 


THE   TOMBS   OF   THE   KINGS.  119 

Ibis-headed,  jackal-featured,  vulture-hooded,  pass  on  high, 

Gods  ou  gods  through  Time's  perspectives  —  pilgrims  of  Eternity. 

There,  revealed  by  fitful  flashes,  in  a  gloom  that  may  be  felt, 
Wild  Chimeras  flash  from  darkness,  glittering  like  Orion's  belt. 

And  on  high,  o'er  shining  waters,  in  their  barks  the  gods  sail  by, 
In  the  Sunboat  and  the  Moonboat,  rowed  across  the  rose-hued  sky. 

Night,  that  was  before  Creation,  watches  sphinxlike,  starred  with  eyes, 
And  the  hours  and  days  are  passing,  and  the  years  and  centuries. 

But  these  mummied  Kings  of  Egypt,  pictures  of  a  perished  race, 
Lie,  of  busy  Death  forgotten,  face  by  immemorial  face. 

Though  the  glorious  sun  above  them,  burning  on  the  naked  plain, 
Clothes  the  empty  wilderness  with  the  golden,  glowing  grain ; 

Though  the  balmy  Moon  above  them,  floating  in  the  milky  Blue, 
Fills  the  empty  wilderness  with  a  silver  fall  of  dew ; 

Though  life  comes  and  flies  unresting,  like  the  shadow  which  a  dove 
Casts  upon  the  Sphinx,  in  passing,  for  a  moment  from  above ;  — 

Still  these  mummied  Kings  of  Egypt,  wrapped  in  linen,  fold  on  fold, 
Bide  through  ages  in  their  coffins,  crowned  with  crowns  of  dusky  gold. 

Had  the  sun  once  brushed  them  lightly,  or  a  breath  of  air,  they  must 
Instantaneously  have  crumbled  into  evanescent  dust. 

Pale  and  passive  in  their  prisons,  they  have  conquered,  chained  to 

death ; 
And  their  lineaments  look  living  now  as  when  they  last  drew  breath ! 

Have  they  conquered  ?  Oh,  the  pity  of  those  Kings  within  their  tombs. 
Locked  in  stony  isolation  in  those  petrifying  glooms ! 

Motionless  where  all  is  motion  in  a  rolling  Universe, 

Heaven,  by  answering  their  prayer,  turned  it  to  a  deadly  curse. 

Left  them  fixed  where  all  is  fluid  in  a  world  of  star- winged  skies ; 
Where,  in  myriad  transformations,  all  things  pass  and  nothing  dies ; 

Nothing  dies  but  what  is  tethered,  kept  when  Time  would  set  it  free, 
To  fulfill  Thought's  yearning  tension  upward  through  Eternity. 


120  EPIC  OF  PENTAUE. 

THE   EPIC   OF   PENTAUR. 

ON  THE  EXPLOITS   OF   R AMESES  n.,  ABOUT  B.C.  1400. 

(Translated  by  Heinrich  Bragsch-Bey,  in  "Egypt  of  the  Pharaohs.") 

[Heinrich  Karl  Brugsch,  a  celebrated  Egyptologist,  was  bom  in  Berlin, 
Germany,  February  18,  1827.  He  early  become  an  enthusiast  on  Egyptian 
antiquities,  visited  Egypt  twice  to  study  them,  and  founded  in  1864  at  Leipsic  a 
periodical  devoted  to  them.  He  was  professor  at  Gottingen,  1868-1869,  when  by 
invitation  of  the  Khedive  he  took  the  headship  of  the  School  of  Egyptology  in 
Cairo,  and  was  given  the  titles  of  Bey  and  Pasha.  In  1881  he  succeeded  Marietta 
as  keeper  of  the  Museum  at  Boulak  ;  later  in  the  same  year  he  returned  to  Ber- 
lin to  lecture  on  Egyptology,  and  was  made  director  of  the  Egyptian  Museum 
there.  He  had  been  a  member  of  the  embassy  to  Persia  in  1860.  He  died  Sep- 
tember 10,  1894.  Hi.s  works  include  :  "  Egyptian  Monuments,"  1857  and  1862- 
1866;  "History  of  Egypt,"  1859,  1877,  revised  more  than  once  since  and  still 
valuable;  "Hieroglyphic-demotic  Dictionary,"  1867-1882;  "  The  Exodus  and  the 
Egyptian  Monuments,"  1876;  "Geographical  Dictionary  of  Ancient  Egypt," 
1879-1880.] 

Beginning  of  the  victory  of  king  Ramses  Miamun  —  may 
he  live  forever  !  —  which  he  obtained  over  the  people  of  the 
Khita,  of  Naharain,  of  Malunna,  of  Pidasa,  of  the  Dardani, 
over  the  people  of  Masa,  of  Karkisha,  of  Qasuatan,  of  Qarkemish, 
of  Kati,  of  Anaugas,  over  the  people  of  Akerith  and  Mushanath. 

The  youthful  king  with  the  bold  hand  has  not  his  equal. 
His  arms  are  powerful,  his  heart  is  firm,  his  courage  is  like  that 
of  the  god  of  war,  Monthu,  in  the  midst  of  the  fight.  He  leads 
his  warriors  to  unknown  peoples.  He  seizes  his  weapons,  and 
is  a  wall,  their  [his  warriors']  shield  in  the  day  of  battle.  He 
seizes  his  bow,  and  no  man  offers  opposition.  Mightier  than  a 
hundred  thousand  united  together  goes  he  forwards.  His 
courage  is  firm  like  that  of  a  bull.  He  has  smitten  all  peoples 
who  had  united  themselves  together.  No  man  knows  the 
thousands  of  men  who  stood  against  him.  A  hundred  thousand 
sank  before  his  glance.  Terrible  is  he  when  his  war  cry  re- 
sounds ;  bolder  than  the  whole  world ;  he  is  as  the  grim  lion 
in  the  valley  of  the  gazelles.  His  command  will  be  performed. 
No  one  dares  to  speak  against  him.  Wise  is  his  counsel.  Com- 
plete are  his  decisions,  when  he  wears  the  royal  crown  Atef  and 
declares  his  will,  a  protector  of  his  people.  His  heart  is  like  a 
mountain  of  iron.     Such  is  king  Ramses  Miamun. 


EPIC  OF  PENTAUR.  121 

After  the  king  had  armed  his  people  and  his  chariots,  and  in 
like  manner  the  Shardonians,  which  were  once  his  prisoners, 
then  was  the  order  given  them  for  the  battle.  The  king  took 
his  way  downwards,  and  his  people  and  his  chariots  accom- 
panied him,  and  followed  the  best  road  on  their  march.   .   .  . 

Now  had  the  miserable  king  of  the  hostile  Khita,  and  the 
many  peoples  which  were  with  him,  hidden  themselves  in  an 
ambush  to  the  northwest  of  the  city  of  Kadesh,  while  Pharaoh 
was  alone,  no  other  was  with  him.  The  legion  of  Amom  ad- 
vanced behind  him.  The  legion  of  Phra  went  into  the  ditch 
on  the  territory  which  lies  to  the  west  of  the  town  of  Shaba- 
tuna,  divided  by  a  long  interval  from  the  legion  of  Ptah  in  the 
midst  [marching]  towards  the  town  of  Arnama.  The  legion 
of  Sutekh  marched  on  by  their  roads.  And  the  king  called  to- 
gether all  the  chief  men  of  his  warriors.  Behold,  they  were  at 
the  lake  of  the  land  of  the  Amorites.  At  the  same  time  the 
miserable  king  of  Khita  was  in  the  midst  of  his  warriors  which 
were  with  him.  But  his  hand  was  not  so  bold  as  to  venture  on 
battle  with  Pharaoh.  Therefore  he  drew  away  the  horsemen 
and  the  chariots  which  were  numerous  as  the  sand.  And  they 
stood  three  men  on  each  war  chariot,  and  there  were  assembled 
in  one  spot  the  best  heroes  of  the  army  of  Khita,  well  appointed 
with  all  weapons  for  the  fight. 

They  did  not  dare  to  advance.  They  stood  in  ambush  to  the 
northwest  of  the  town  of  Kadesh.  Then  they  went  out  from 
Kadesh,  on  the  side  of  the  south,  and  threw  themselves  into 
the  midst  of  the  legion  of  Pra-Hormakhu,  which  gave  way,  and 
was  not  prepared  for  the  fight.  Then  Pharaoh's  warriors  and 
chariots  gave  way  before  them.  And  Pharaoh  had  placed  him- 
self to  the  north  of  the  town  of  Kadesh,  on  the  west  side  of  the 
river  Arunatha.  Then  they  came  to  tell  the  king.  Then  the 
king  arose,  like  his  father  Month ;  he  grasped  his  weapons  and 
put  on  his,  armor,  just  like  Baal  in  his  time.  And  the  noble 
pair  of  horses  which  carried  Pharaoh,  and  whose  name  was 
"Victory  in  Thebes,"  they  were  from  the  court  of  King 
Ramses  Miamun.  When  the  king  had  quickened  his  course,  he 
rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  hostile  hosts  of  Khita,  all  alone,  no 
other  was  with  him.  When  Pharaoh  had  done  this,  he  looked 
behind  him  and  found  himself  surrounded  by  2500  pairs  of 
horses,  and  his  retreat  was  beset  by  the  bravest  heroes  of  the 
king  of  the  miserable  Khita,  and  by  all  the  numerous  peoples 
which  were  with  him,  of  Arathu,  of  Masu,  of  Pidasa,  of  Kesh- 


122  EPIC   OF  PENTAUR 

kesh,  of  Malunna,  of  Qazauadana,  of  Khilibu,  of  Akerith,  of 
Kadesh,  and  of  Leka.  And  there  were  three  men  on  each 
chariot,  and  they  were  all  gathered  together. 

[Thus  spake  the  king  :  — ] 

"  And  not  one  of  my  princes,  not  one  of  my  captains  of  the 
chariots,  not  one  of  my  chief  men,  not  one  of  my  knights  was 
there.  My  warriors  and  my  chariots  had  abandoned  me,  not 
one  of  them  was  there  to  take  part  in  the  battle.   .   .  . 

"  I  hurled  the  dart  with  my  right  hand,  I  fought  with  my 
left  hand.  I  was  like  Baal  in  his  time  before  their  sight.  I 
had  found  2500  pairs  of  horses ;  I  was  in  the  midst  of  them  ; 
but  they  were  dashed  in  pieces  before  my  horses.  Not  one  of 
them  raised  his  hand  to  fight ;  their  courage  was  sunken  in 
their  breasts,  their  limbs  gave  way,  they  could  not  hurl  the 
dart,  nor  had  they  the  courage  to  thrust  with  the  spear.  I 
made  them  fall  into  the  waters  just  as  the  crocodiles  fall  in. 
They  tumbled  down  on  their  faces  one  after  another.  I  killed 
them  at  my  pleasure,  so  that  not  one  looked  back  behind  him, 
nor  did  another  turn  round.  Each  one  fell,  he  raised  himself 
not  up  again. 

"  There  stood  still  the  miserable  king  of  Khita  in  the  midst  of 
his  warriors  and  his  chariots,  to  behold  the  figlit  of  the  king. 
He  was  all  alone  ;  not  one  of  his  warriors,  not  one  of  his 
chariots  was  with  him.  There  he  turned  round  for  fright  be- 
fore the  king.  Thereupon  he  sent  the  princes  in  great  numbers, 
each  of  them  with  his  chariot,  well  equipped  with  all  kinds  of 
offensive  weapons :  the  king  of  Arathu  and  him  of  Masa,  the 
king  of  Malunna  and  him  of  Leka,  the  king  of  the  Dardani  and 
him  of  Keshkesh,  the  king  of  Qarqamash  and  him  of  Khilibi. 
There  were  altogether  the  brothers  of  the  king  of  Khita  united 
in  one  place,  to  the  number  of  2500  pairs  of  horses.  They 
forthwith  rushed  right  on,  their  countenance  directed  to  the 
flame  of  fire  [i.e.  my  face]. 

"  I  rushed  down  upon  them.  Like  Monthu  was  I.  I  let 
them  taste  my  hand  in  the  space  of  a  moment.  I  dashed  them 
down,  and  killed  them  where  they  stood.  Then  cried  out  one 
of  them  to  his  neighbor,  saying  :  '  This  is  no  man.  Ah  !  woe  to 
us  !  He  who  is  in  our  midst  is  Sutekh,  the  glorious :  Baal  is 
in  all  his  limbs.  Let  us  hasten  and  flee  before  him.  Let  us 
save  our  lives ;  let  us  try  our  breath.'  " 

As  soon  as  any  one  attacked  him,  his  hand  fell  down  and 
every  limb  of  his  body.     They  could  not  aim  either  the  bow  or 


EPIC   OF   PENTAUR.  123 

the  spear.  They  only  looked  at  him  as  he  came  on  in  his  head- 
long career  from  afar.  The  king  was  behind  them  like  a 
griffin. 

[Thus  spake  the  king    — ] 

"  I  struck  them  down  ;  they  did  not  escape  me.  I  lifted 
up  my  voice  to  my  warriors  and  to  my  charioteers,  and  spake 
to  them,  '  Halt  !  stand  !  take  courage,  my  warriors,  my  chari- 
oteers !  Look  upon  my  victory.  I  am  alone,  but  Anion  is  my 
helper,  and  his  hand  is  with  me.' 

"  When  Menna,  my  charioteer,  beheld  with  his  eyes  how 
many  pairs  of  horses  surrounded  me,  his  courage  left  him,  and 
his  heart  was  afraid.  Evident  terror  and  great  fright  took 
possession  of  his  whole  body.  Immediately  he  sjmke  to  me : 
'  My  gracious  lord,  thou  brave  king,  thou  guardian  of  the 
Egyptians  in  the  day  of  battle,  protect  us.  We  stand  alone  in 
the  midst  of  enemies.  Stop,  to  save  the  breath  of  life  for  us. 
Give  us  deliverance,  protect  us,  O  King  Ramses  Miamun.'  " 

Then  spake  the  king  to  his  charioteer :  "  Halt !  stand  !  take 
courage,  my  charioteer.  I  will  dash  myself  down  among  them 
as  the  sparrow  hawk  dashes  down.  I  will  slay  them,  1  will  cut 
them  in  pieces,  I  will  dash  them  to  the  ground  in  the  dust. 
Why  then  is  such  a  thought  in  thy  heart  ?  These  are  unclean 
ones  for  Amon,  wretches  who  do  not  acknowledge  the  god." 

And  the  king  hurried  onwards.  He  charged  down  upon  the 
hostile  hosts  of  Khita.  For  the  sixth  time,  when  he  charged 
upon  them  [says  the  king]  :  "  There  was  I  like  to  Baal  behind 
them  in  his  time,  when  he  has  strength.  I  killed  them ;  none 
escaped  me." 

[The  king  gives  his  officers  a  tongue  lashing  for  leaving  him 
in  the  lurch.     The  next  morning  the  battle  is  renewed.] 

"  The  diadem  of  the  royal  snake  adorned  my  head.  It  spat 
fire  and  glowing  flame  in  the  face  of  my  enemies.  I  appeared 
like  the  sun  god  at  his  rising  in  the  early  morning.  My 
shining  beams  were  a  consuming  fire  for  the  limbs  of  the  wicked. 
They  cried  out  to  one  another,  '  Take  care,  do  not  fall !  For 
the  powerful  snake  of  royalty,  which  accompanies  him,  has 
placed  itself  on  his  horse.  It  helps  him.  Every  one  who 
conies  in  his  way  and  falls  down  there  comes  forth  fire  and 
flame  to  consume  his  body.'  " 

And  they  remained  afar  off,  and  threw  themselves  down  on 
the  earth  to  entreat  the  king  in  the  sight  [of  his  army].  And 
the  king  had  power  over  them  and  slew  them  without  their 


124  EPIC  OF  PENTAUR. 

being  able  to  escape.  As  bodies  tumbled  before  his  horses,  so 
they  lay  there  stretched  out  all  together  in  their  blood. 

Then  the  king  of  the  hostile  people  of  Khita  sent  a  messenger 
to  pray  piteously  to  the  great  name  o ;"  the  king,  speaking  thus  : 
"  Thou  art  Ra-Hormakhu.  Thou  art  Sutekh  the  glorious,  the 
son  of  Nut,  Baal  in  his  time.  Thy  terror  is  upon  the  land  of 
Khita,  for  thou  hast  broken  the  neck  of  Khita  forever  and 
ever." 

Thereupon  he  allowed  his  messenger  to  enter.  He  bore  a 
writing  in  his  hand  with  the  address,  "  To  the  great  double 
name  of  the  king  "  :  — 

"May  this  suffice  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  heart  of  the 
holiness  of  the  royal  house,  the  Sun-Horus,  the  mighty  Bull, 
who  loves  justice,  the  great  lord,  the  protector  of  his  people,  the 
brave  with  his  arm,  the  rampart  of  his  life  guards  in  the  day  of 
battle,  the  king  Ramses  Miamun. 

"  The  servant  speaks,  he  makes  known  to  Pharaoh,  my 
gracious  lord,  the  beautiful  son  of  Ra-Hormakhu,  as  follows  :  — 

"  Since  thou  art  the  son  of  Am  on,  from  whose  body  thou  art 
sprung,  so  has  he  granted  to  thee  all  the  peoples  together. 

"  The  people  of  Egypt  and  the  people  of  Khita  ought  to  be 
brothers  together  as  thy  servants.  Let  them  be  at  thy  feet. 
The  sun  god  Ra  has  granted  thee  the  best  [people] .  Do  us  no 
injury,  glorious  spirit,  whose  anger  weighs  upon  the  people  of 
Khita. 

"  Would  it  be  good  if  thou  shouldst  wish  to  kill  thy  serv- 
ants, whom  thou  hast  brought  under  thy  power  ?  Thy  look 
is  terrible,  and  thou  art  not  mildly  disposed.  Calm  thyself. 
Yesterday  thou  earnest  and  hast  slain  hundreds  of  thousands. 
Thou  comest  to-day,  and  none  will  be  left  remaining  [to  serve 
thee]. 

"  Do  not  carry  out  thy  purpose,  thou  mighty  king.  Better 
is  peace  than  war.     Give  us  freedom." 

Then  the  king  turned  back  in  a  gentle  humor,  like  his  father 
Monthu  in  his  time,  and  Pharaoh  assembled  all  the  leaders  of 
the  army  and  of  the  chariot  fighters  and  of  the  life  guards. 
And  when  they  were  all  assembled  together  in  one  place,  they 
were  permitted  to  hear  the  contents  of  the  message  which  the 
great  king  of  Khita  had  sent  to  him.  [When  they  had  heard] 
these  words,  which  the  messenger  of  the  king  of  Khita  had 
brought  as  his  embassy  to  Pharaoh,  then  they  answered  and 
spake  thus  to  the  king :  — 


THE  MIRAGE  IN  EGYPT.  126 

«  Excellent,  excellent  is  that  1  Let  thy  anger  pass  a\f  ay,  O 
great  lord  our  king  !  He  who  does  not  accept  peace  must  offer 
it.     Who  would  content  thee  in  the  day  of  thy  wrath  ?  " 

Then  the  king  gave  order  to  listen  to  the  words  of  him,  and 
he  let  his  hands  rest,  in  order  to  return  to  the  south.  Then  the 
king  went  in  peace  to  the  land  of  Egypt  with  his  princes,  with 
his  army,  and  his  charioteers,  in  serene  humor,  in  the  sight  of 
his  [people].  All  countries  feared  the  power  of  the  king,  as  of 
the  lord  of  both  the  worlds.  It  had  protected  his  own  warriors. 
All  peoples  came  at  his  name,  and  their  kings  fell  down  to  pray 
before  his  beautiful  countenance.  The  king  reached  the  city 
of  Ramses  Miamun,  the  great  worshiper  of  Ra-Hormakhu,  and 
rested  in  his  palace  in  the  most  serene  humor,  just  like  the  sun 
on  his  throne.  And  Amon  came  to  greet  him,  speaking  thus 
to  him  :  "  Be  thou  blessed,  thou  our  son,  whom  we  love,  Ramses 
Miamun  !  May  they  [the  gods]  secure  to  him  without  end 
many  thirty-years'  feasts  of  jubilee  forever  on  the  chair  of  his 
father  Tum,  and  may  all  lands  be  under  his  feet !  " 

[The  cowering  terror  of  the  "miserable  king  of  the  Khitas"  would  seem  to 
have  been  overdrawn,  as  an  alliance  was  concluded  between  him  and 
Rameses  on  exactly  equal  terms  (including  a  mutual  extradition  treaty), 
and  cemented  by  a  royal  marriage.] 


THE  MIRAGE  IN  EGYPT. 

By  THEODORE  WATTS-DUNTON. 

Beneath  the  sand-storm,  John  the  Pilgrim  prays ; 

But  when  he  rises,  lo !  an  Eden  smiles, 

Green  cedarn  slopes,  meadows  of  camomiles, 
Claspt  in  a  silvery  river's  winding  maze. 
«  Water,  water !     Blessed  be  God ! "  he  says, 

And  totters  gasping  toward  those  happy  isles. 

Then  all  is  fled !     Over  the  sandy  piles 
The  bald-eyed  vultures  come  and  stand  and  gaze. 
"  God  heard  me  not,"  says  he ;  "  blessed  be  God," 

And  dies.     But  as  he  nears  the  Pearly  Strand, 

Heav'n's  outer  coast  where  waiting  angels  stand, 
He  looks  below.     "  Farewell,  thou  hooded  clod. 

Brown  corpse  the  vultures  tear  on  bloody  sand, 
God  heard  my  prayer  for  life  —  blessed  be  God ! " 


126  CONSPIRACY   AND   SORCERY. 

CONSPIRACY   AND   SORCERY 
Bt  qeorg  ebers. 

From  "Uarda." 

[Georg  Moritz  Ebers  :  German  Egyptologist  and  novelist ;  bom  at  Berlin, 
March  1,  1837.  He  was  educated  at  Gottingen  and  Berlin,  and  lectured  for  a 
while  at  Jena.  In  1870  he  became  professor  of  Egyptian  archaeology  at  Leipsic, 
resigning  in  1889  on  account  of  ill  health.  Besides  several  important  works  on 
Egyptology,  he  has  published  a  series  of  historical  novels  treating  of  ancient 
Egyptian  life,  which  have  enjoyed  extraordinary  popularity  not  only  in  Ger- 
many but  in  other  countries.  The  best  known  are  :  "An  Egj'ptian  Princess," 
"Uarda,"  "Homo  Sura,"  "The  Sisters,"  "Serapis,"  "The  Bride  of  the  Nile," 
and  "Cleopatra."  Also  popular  are:  "In  the  Fire  of  the  Forge,"  "The 
Burgomaster's  Wife,"  and  "Gred."] 

The  house  of  the  charioteer  Mena  resembled  the  neighbor- 
ing estate  of  Paaker,  though  the  buildings  were  less  new,  the 
gay  paint  on  the  pillars  and  walls  was  faded,  and  the  large 
garden  lacked  careful  attention.  In  the  vicinity  of  the  house 
only,  a  few  well-kept  beds  blazed  with  splendid  flowers,  and 
the  open  colonnade,  which  was  occupied  by  Katuti  and  her 
daughter,  was  furnished  with  royal  magnificence. 

The  elegantly  carved  seats  were  made  of  ivory,  the  tables  of 
ebony,  and  they,  as  well  as  the  couches,  had  gilt  feet.  The 
artistically  worked  Syrian  drinking  vessels  on  the  sideboard, 
tables,  and  consoles  were  of  many  forms  ;  beautiful  vases  full 
of  flowers  stood  everywhere  ;  rare  perfumes  rose  from  alabaster 
cups,  and  the  foot  sank  in  the  thick  pile  of  the  carpets  which 
covered  the  floor.  And  over  the  apparently  careless  arrange- 
ment of  these  various  objects  there  reigned  a  peculiar  charm,  an 
indescribably  fascinating  something. 

Stretched  at  full  length  on  a  couch,  and  playing  with  a 
silky-haired  white  cat,  lay  the  fair  Nef ert,  —  fanned  to  coolness 
by  a  negro  girl,  —  while  her  mother  Katuti  nodded  a  last  fare- 
well to  her  sister  Setchem  and  to  Paaker. 

Both  had  crossed  this  threshold  for  the  first  time  for  four 
years  ;  that  is,  since  the  marriage  of  Mena  with  Nefert,  and 
the  old  enmity  seemed  now  to  have  given  way  to  heartfelt 
reconciliation  and  mutual  understanding. 

After  the  pioneer  and  his  mother  had  disappeared  behind 
the  pomegranate  shrubs  at  the  entrance  of  the  garden,  Katuti 
turned  to  her  daughter  and  said  :  — 


CONSPIRACY   AND   SORCERY.  127 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it  yesterday  ?  I  believe  Paaker 
loves  you  still." 

Nefert  colored,  and  exclaimed  softly,  while  she  hit  the 
kitten  gently  with  her  fan,  — 

"  Mother  !  " 

Katuti  smiled. 

She  was  a  tall  woman,  of  noble  demeanor,  whose  sharp  but 
delicately  cut  features  and  sparkling  eyes  could  still  assert 
some  pretensions  to  feminine  beauty.  She  wore  a  long  robe, 
which  reached  below  her  ankles  ;  it  was  of  costly  material,  but 
dark  in  color,  and  of  a  studied  simplicity.  Instead  of  the 
ornaments  in  bracelets,  anklets,  ear  and  finger  rings,  in  neck- 
laces and  clasps,  which  most  of  the  Egyptian  ladies  —  and 
indeed  her  own  sister  and  daughter  —  were  accustomed  to 
wear,  she  had  only  fresh  flowers,  which  were  never  wanting 
in  the  garden  of  her  son-in-law.  Only  a  plain  gold  diadem, 
the  badge  of  her  royal  descent,  always  rested,  from  early 
morning  till  late  at  night,  on  her  high  brow  —  for  a  woman 
too  high,  though  nobly  formed  —  and  confined  the  long,  blue 
black  hair,  which  fell  unbraided  down  her  back,  as  if  its  owner 
contemned  the  vain  labor  of  arranging  it  artistically.  But 
nothing  in  her  exterior  was  unpremeditated,  and  the  unbe- 
jeweled  wearer  of  the  diadem,  in  her  plain  dress,  and  with  her 
royal  figure,  was  everywhere  sure  of  being  observed,  and  of 
finding  imitators  of  her  dress,  and  indeed  of  her  demeanor. 

And  yet  Katuti  had  long  lived  in  need  ;  ay,  at  the  very 
hour  when  we  first  make  her  acquaintance  she  had  little  of  her 
own,  but  lived  on  the  estate  of  her  son-in-law  as  his  guest,  and 
as  the  administrator  of  his  possessions  ;  and  before  the  marriage 
of  her  daughter  she  had  lived  with  her  children  in  a  house 
belonging  to  her  sister  Setchem. 

She  had  been  the  wife  of  her  own  brother,  who  had  died 
young,  and  who  had  squandered  the  greatest  part  of  the  pos- 
sessions which  had  been  left  to  him  by  the  new  royal  family,  in 
an  extravagant  love  of  display. 

When  she  became  a  widow,  she  was  received  as  a  sister, 
with  her  children,  by  her  brother-in-law,  Paaker's  father.  She 
lived  in  a  house  of  her  own,  enjoyed  the  income  of  an  estate 
assigned  to  her  by  the  old  Mohar,  and  left  to  her  son-in-law 
the  care  of  educating  her  son,  a  handsome  and  overbearing 
lad,  with  all  the  claims  and  pretensions  of  a  youth  of  distinc- 
tion. 


128  CONSPIRACY   AND  60RCERY. 

Such  great  benefits  would  have  oppressed  and  disgraced  the 
proud  Katuti,  if  she  had  been  content  with  them  and  in  every 
way  agreed  with  the  giver.  But  this  was  by  no  means  the 
case ;  rather,  she  believed  that  she  might  pretend  to  a  more 
brilliant  outward  position,  felt  herself  hurt  when  her  heedless 
son  while  he  attended  school  was  warned  to  work  more  seri- 
ously, as  he  would  by  and  by  have  to  rely  on  his  own  skill 
and  his  own  strength.  And  it  had  wounded  her  when  occa- 
sionally her  brother-in-law  had  suggested  economy,  and  had 
reminded  her,  in  his  straightforward  way,  of  her  narrow  means, 
and  the  uncertain  future  of  her  children. 

At  this  she  was  deeply  offended,  for  she  ventured  to  say 
that  her  relatives  could  never,  with  all  their  gifts,  compensate 
for  the  insults  they  heaped  upon  her ;  and  thus  taught  them 
by  experience  that  we  quarrel  with  no  one  more  readily  than 
with  the  benefactor  whom  we  can  never  repay  for  all  the  good 
he  bestows  on  us. 

Nevertheless,  when  her  brother-in-law  asked  the  hand  of 
her  daughter  for  his  son,  she  willingly  gave  her  consent. 

Nefert  and  Paaker  had  grown  up  together,  and  by  this 
union  she  foresaw  that  she  could  secure  her  own  future  and 
that  of  her  children. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  the  Mohar,  the  charioteer  Mena 
had  proposed  for  Nefert's  hand,  but  would  have  been  refused 
if  the  king  himself  had  not  supported  the  suit  of  his  favorite 
officer.  After  the  wedding,  she  retired  with  Nefert  to  Mena's 
house,  and  undertook,  while  he  was  at  the  war,  to  manage  his 
great  estates,  which,  however,  had  been  greatly  burdened  with 
debt  by  his  father. 

Fate  put  the  means  into  her  hands  of  indemnifying  herself 
and  her  children  for  many  past  privations,  and  she  availed  her- 
self of  them  to  gratify  her  innate  desire  to  be  esteemed  and 
admired ;  to  obtain  admission  for  her  son,  splendidly  equipped, 
into  a  company  of  chariot  warriors  of  the  highest  class  ;  and 
to  surround  her  daughter  with  princely  magnificence. 

When  the  regent,  who  had  been  a  friend  of  her  late  hus- 
band, removed  into  the  palace  of  the  Pharaohs,  he  made  her 
advances,  and  the  clever  and  decided  woman  knew  how  to 
make  herself  at  first  agreeable,  and  finally  indispensable,  to  the 
vacillating  man. 

She  availed  herself  of  the  circumstance  that  she,  as  well  as 
he,  was  descended  from  the  old  royal  house  to  pique  his  ambi- 


CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY.  129 

tion,  and  to  open  to  him  a  view,  which,  even  to  think  of,  he 
would  have  considered  forbidden  as  a  crime,  before  he  became 
intimate  with  her. 

Ani's  suit  for  the  hand  of  the  Princess  Bent-Anat  was 
Katuti's  work.  She  hoped  that  the  Pharaoh  would  refuse,  and 
personall}^  offend  the  regent,  and  so  make  him  more  inclined 
to  tread  the  dangerous  road  which  she  was  endeavoring  to 
smooth  for  him.     The  dwarf  Nemu  was  her  pliant  tool. 

She  had  not  initiated  him  into  her  projects  by  any  words  ; 
he,  however,  gave  utterance  to  every  impulse  of  her  mind  in 
free  language,  which  was  punished  only  with  blows  from  a  fan, 
and,  only  the  day  before,  had  been  so  audacious  as  to  say  that 
if  the  Pharaoh  were  called  Ani  instead  of  Rameses,  Katuti 
would  be  not  a  queen  but  a  goddess,  for  she  would  then  have 
not  to  obey,  but  rather  to  guide,  the  Pharaoh,  who  indeed  him- 
self was  related  to  the  immortals. 

Katuti  did  not  observe  her  daughter's  blush,  for  she  was 
looking  anxiously  out  at  the  garden  gate,  and  said  :  — 

"  Where  can  Nemu  be?  There  must  be  some  news  arrived 
for  us  from  the  army." 

"  Mena  has  not  written  for  so  long,"  Nefert  said  softly. 
"  Ah !  here  is  the  steward." 

Katuti  turned  to  the  officer,  who  had  entered  the  veranda 
through  a  side  door. 

"  What  do  you  bring  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  dealer  Abscha,"  was  the  answer,  "  presses  for  pay- 
ment.    The  new  Syrian  chariot  and  the  purple  cloth " 

"  Sell  some  corn,"  ordered  Katuti. 

"  Impossible,  for  the  tribute  to  the  temples  is  not  yet  paid, 
and  already  so  much  has  been  delivered  to  the  dealers  that 
scarcely  enough  remains  over  for  the  maintenance  of  the  house- 
hold and  for  sowing." 

"  Then  pay  with  beasts." 

"  But,  madam,"  said  the  steward,  sorrowfully,  "  only  yester- 
day we  again  sold  a  herd  to  the  Mohar ;  and  the  water  wheels 
must  be  turned,  and  the  corn  must  be  thrashed,  and  we  need 
beasts  for  sacrifice,  and  milk,  butter,  and  cheese  for  the  use  of 
the  house,  and  dung  for  firing." 

Katuti  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  ground. 

"  It  must  be,"  she  said  presently.  "  Ride  to  Hermonthis, 
and  say  to  the  keeper  of  the  stud  that  he  must  have  ten  of 
Mena's  golden  bays  driven  over  here." 


130  CONSPIRACY   AND  SORCERY. 

"  I  have  already  spoken  to  him,"  said  the  steward,  "  but  he 
maintains  that  Mena  strictly  forbade  him  to  part  with  even  one 
of  the  horses,  for  he  is  proud  of  the  stock.  Only  for  the  chariot 
of  the  lady  Nefert " 

"  I  require  obedience,"  said  Katuti,  decidedly,  and  cut- 
ting short  the  steward's  words,  "and  I  expect  the  horses  to- 
morrow." 

"  But  the  stud  master  is  a  daring  man,  whom  Mena  looks 
upon  as  indispensable,  and  he " 

"  I  command  here,  and  not  the  absent,"  cried  Katuti,  en- 
raged, "  and  I  require  the  horses  in  spite  of  the  former  orders 
of  my  son-in-law." 

Nefert,  during  this  conversation,  pulled  herself  up  from  her 
indolent  attitude.  On  hearing  the  last  words  she  rose  from 
her  couch,  and  said,  with  a  decision  which  surprised  even  her 
mother :  — 

"  The  orders  of  my  husband  must  be  obeyed.  The  horses 
that  Mena  loves  shall  stay  in  their  stalls.  Take  this  armlet 
that  the  king  gave  me ;  it  is  worth  more  than  twenty  horses." 

The  steward  examined  the  trinket,  richly  set  with  precious 
stones,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Katuti.  She  shrugged  lier 
shoulders,  nodded  consent,  and  said :  — 

"  Abscha  shall  hold  it  as  a  pledge  till  Mena's  booty  arrives. 
For  a  year  your  husband  has  sent  nothing  of  importance." 

When  the  steward  was  gone,  Nefert  stretched  herself  again 
on  her  couch  and  said,  wearily  :  — 

"I  thought  we  were  rich." 

'■'■  We  might  be,"  said  Katuti,  bitterly ;  but  as  she  perceived 
that  Nefert's  cheeks  were  again  glowing,  she  said  amiably : 
"  Our  high  rank  imposes  great  duties  on  us.  Princely  blood 
flows  in  our  veins,  and  the  eyes  of  the  people  are  turned  on  the 
wife  of  the  most  brilliant  hero  in  the  king's  army.  They  shall 
not  say  that  she  is  neglected  by  her  husband.  How  long  Mena 
remains  away  !  " 

"  I  hear  a  noise  in  the  court,"  said  Nefert.  '  The  regent  is 
coming." 

Katuti  turned  again  toward  the  garden. 

A  breathless  slave  rushed  in,  and  announced  that  Bent- 
Anat,  the  daughter  of  the  king,  had  dismounted  at  the  gate, 
and  was  approaching  the  garden  with  the  Prince  Rameri.  .  .  . 

Katuti  looked  down  reflectively.  Then  she  said,  "  The 
regent  certainly  likes  very  well  to  pass  his  hours  of  leisure 


CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCt:RY.  •  131 

with  me,  gossiping  or  playing  draughts,  but  I  do  not  know 
that  I  should  dare  to  speak  to  him  of  so  grave  a  matter." 

"  Marriage  projects  are  women's  ajBfairs,"  said  Bent-Anat, 
smiling. 

"  But  the  marriage  of  a  princess  is  a  state  event,"  replied 
the  widow.  "In  this  case,  it  is  true,  the  uncle  only  courts  his 
niece,  who  is  dear  to  him,  and  who  he  hopes  will  make  the  sec- 
ond half  of  his  life  the  brightest.  Ani  is  kind  and  without 
severity.  Thou  wouldst  win  in  him  a  husband  who  would 
wait  on  thy  looks,  and  bow  willingly  to  thy  strong  will." 

Bent-Anat's  eyes  flashed,  and  she  hastily  exclaimed  :  "  That 
is  exactly  what  forces  the  decisive,  irrevocable  '  no '  to  my  lips. 
Do  you  think  that  because  I  am  as  proud  as  my  mother,  and 
resolute  like  my  father,  that  I  wish  for  a  husband  whom  I  could 
govern  and  lead  as  I  would  ?  How  little  you  know  me  !  I 
will  be  obeyed  by  my  dogs,  my  servants,  my  officers,  if  the 
gods  so  will  it,  by  my  children.  Abject  beings,  who  will  kiss 
my  feet,  I  meet  on  every  road,  and  can  buy  by  the  hundred,  if 
I  wish  it,  in  the  slave  market.  I  may  be  courted  twenty  times, 
and  reject  twenty  suitors,  but  not  because  I  fear  that  they  might 
bend  my  pride  and  my  will ;  on  the  contrary,  because  I  feel 
them  increased.  The  man  to  whom  I  could  wish  to  offer  my 
hand  must  be  of  a  loftier  stamp,  must  be  greater,  firmer,  and 
better  than  I ;  and  I  will  flutter  after  the  mighty  wing  strokes 
of  his  spirit,  and  smile  at  my  own  weakness,  and  glory  in  admir- 
ing his  superiority." 

Katuti  listened  to  the  maiden  with  the  smile  by  which  the 
experienced  love  to  signify  their  superiority  over  the  visionary. 

"  Ancient  times  may  have  produced  such  men,"  she  said. 
"  But  if  in  these  days  thou  thinkest  to  find  one,  thou  wilt  wear 
the  lock  of  youth  till  thou  art  gray.  Our  thinkers  are  no  he- 
roes, and  our  heroes  are  no  sages.  Here  come  thy  brother  and 
Nefert." 

"Will  you  persuade  Ani  to  give  up  his  suit?"  said  the 
princess,  urgently. 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  do  so,  for  thy  sake,"  replied  Katuti. 
Then,  turning  half  to  the  young  Rameri  and  half  to  his  sister, 
she  said :  — 

"  The  chief  of  the  House  of  Seti,  Ameni,  was  in  his  youth 
such  a  man  as  thou  paintest,  Bent-Anat.  Tell  us,  thou  son 
of  Rameses,  that  art  growing  up  under  the  young  sycamores, 
which  shall  some  day  overshadow  the  land  —  whom  dost  thou 


132  CONSPIRACY   AND  SORCERY. 

esteem  the  highest  among  thy  companions  ?  Is  there  one  among 
them  who  is  conspicuous  above  them  all  for  a  lofty  spirit  and 
the  strength  of  intellect?  " 

The  young  Rameri  looked  gayly  at  the  speaker,  and  said, 
laughing:  — 

"  We  are  all  much  alike,  and  do  more  or  less  willingly 
what  we  are  compelled,  and  by  preference  everything  we  ought 
not." 

"A  mighty  soul  —  a  youth  who  promises  to  be  a  second 
Snefru,  a  Thotmes,  or  even  an  Ameni?  Dost  thou  know  none 
such  in  the  House  of  Seti  ?  "  asked  the  widow. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  Rameri,  with  eager  certainty. 

"  And  he  is ?  "  asked  Katuti. 

"  Pentaur,  the  poet,"  exclaimed  the  youth.  Bent-Anat's 
face  glowed  with  scarlet  color,  while  her  brother  went  on  to 
explain. 

"  He  is  noble  and  of  a  lofty  soul,  and  all  the  gods  dwell  in 
him  when  he  speaks.  Formerly  we  used  to  go  to  sleep  in  the 
lecture  hall ;  but  his  words  carry  us  away,  and  if  we  do  not 
take  in  the  full  meaning  of  his  thoughts,  yet  we  feel  that  they 
are  genuine  and  noble." 

Bent-Anat  breathed  quicker  at  these  words,  her  eyes  hung 
on  the  boy's  lips. 

"  You  know  him,  Bent-Anat,"  continued  Rameri.  "  He  was 
with  you  at  the  paraschites'  house,  and  in  the  temple  court  when 
Ameni  pronounced  you  unclean.  He  is  as  tall  and  handsome  as 
the  god  Menth,  and  I  feel  that  he  is  one  of  those  whom  we  can 
never  forget  when  once  we  have  seen  them.  Yesterday,  after 
you  had  left  the  temple,  he  spoke  as  he  never  spoke  before ;  he 
poured  fire  into  our  souls.  Do  not  laugh,  Katuti ;  I  feel  it 
burning  still.  This  morning  we  were  informed  that  he  had 
been  sent  from  the  temple,  who  knows  where  —  and  had  left  us 
a  message  of  farewell.  It  was  not  thought  at  all  necessary  to 
communicate  the  reason  to  us;  but  we  know  more  than  the 
masters  think.  He  did  not  reprove  you  strongly  enough,  Bent- 
Anat,  and  therefore  he  is  driven  out  of  the  House  of  Seti.  We 
have  agreed  to  combine  to  ask  for  him  to  be  recalled  ;  Anana  is 
drawing  up  a  letter  to  the  chief  priest,  which  we  shall  all  sub- 
scribe. It  would  turn  out  badly  for  one  alone,  but  they  cannot 
be  at  all  of  us  at  once.  Very  likely  they  will  have  the  sense  to 
recall  him.  If  not,  we  shall  all  complain  to  our  fathers,  and 
they  are  not  the  meanest  in  the  land." 


CONSPIRACY   AND   SORCERY.  133 

As  soon  as  Bent-Anat  had  quitted  Mena's  domain,  the  dwarf 
Nemu  entered  the  garden  with  a  letter,  and  briefly  related  his 
adventures  ;  but  in  such  a  comical  fashion  that  both  the  ladies 
laughed,  and  Katuti,  with  a  lively  gayety,  which  was  usually 
foreign  to  her,  while  she  warned  him,  at  the  same  time  praised 
his  acuteness.     She  looked  at  the  seal  of  the  letter,  and  said,  — 

"  This  is  a  lucky  day  ;  it  has  brought  us  great  things,  and 
the  promise  of  greater  things  in  the  future." 

Nefert  came  close  up  to  her  and  said  imploringly,  "  Open 
the  letter,  and  see  if  there  is  nothing  in  it  from  him." 

Katuti  unfastened  the  wax,  looked  through  the  letter  with 
a  hasty  glance,  stroked  the  cheek  of  her  child,  and  said,  — 

"  Perhaps  your  brother  has  written  for  him  ;  I  see  no  line 
in  his  handwriting." 

Nefert  on  her  side  glanced  at  the  letter,  but  not  to  read  it, 
only  to  seek  some  trace  of  the  well-known  handwriting  of  her 
husband. 

Like  all  the  Egyptian  women  of  good  family  she  could  read, 
and  during  the  first  two  years  of  her  married  life  she  had  often 
—  very  often  —  had  the  opportunity  of  puzzling,  and  yet  re- 
joicing, over  the  feeble  signs  which  the  iron  hand  of  the 
charioteer  had  scrawled  on  the  papyrus  for  her  whose  slender 
fingers  could  guide  the  reed  pen  with  firmness  and  decision. 

She  examined  the  letter,  and  at  last  said,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  :  — 

"Nothing  !     I  will  go  to  my  room,  mother." 

Katuti  kissed  her  and  said,  "  Hear  first  what  your  brother 
writes." 

But  Nefert  shook  her  head,  turned  away  in  silence,  and 
disappeared  into  the  house. 

Katuti  was  not  very  friendly  to  her  son-in-law,  but  her 
heart  clung  to  her  handsome,  reckless  son,  the  very  image  of 
her  lost  husband,  the  favorite  of  women,  and  the  gayest 
youth  among  the  young  nobles  who  composed  the  chariot 
guard  of  the  king. 

How  fully  he  had  written  to-day — he  who  wielded  the 
reed  pen  so  laboriously. 

This  really  was  a  letter  ;  while  usually  he  only  asked  in  the 
fewest  words  for  fresh  funds  for  the  gratification  of  his  extrava- 
gant tastes. 

This  time  she  might  look  for  thanks,  for  not  long  since 
he  must  have  received  a  considerable  supply,  which  she  had 


134  CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY. 

abstracted  from  the  income  of  the  possessions  intrusted  to  her 
bj  her  son-in-law. 

She  began  to  read. 

The  cheerfulness  with  which  she  had  met  the  dwarf  was 
insincere,  and  had  resembled  the  brilliant  colors  of  the  rainbow, 
which  gleam  over  the  stagnant  waters  of  a  bog.  A  stone  falls 
into  the  pool,  the  colors  vanish,  dim  mists  rise  up,  and  it  be- 
comes foul  and  cloudy. 

The  news  which  her  son's  letter  contained  fell,  indeed,  like 
a  block  of  stone  on  Katuti's  soul. 

Our  deepest  sorrows  always  flow  from  the  same  source  as 
might  have  filled  us  with  joy,  and  those  wounds  burn  the 
fiercest  which  are  inflicted  by  a  hand  we  love. 

The  further  Katuti  went  in  the  lamentably  incorrect  epistle 
—  which  she  could  only  decipher  with  difficulty  —  which  her 
darling  had  written  to  her,  the  paler  grew  her  face,  which  she 
several  times  covered  with  the  trembling  hands,  from  which 
the  letter  dropped. 

Nemu  squatted  on  the  earth  near  her,  and  followed  all  her 
movements. 

When  she  sprang  forward  with  a  heart-piercing  scream,  and 
pressed  her  forehead  to  a  rough  palm  trunk,  he  crept  up  to 
her,  kissed  her  feet,  and  exclaimed,  with  a  depth  of  feeling 
that  overcame  even  Katuti,  who  was  accustomed  to  hear  only 
gay  or  bitter  speeches  from  the  lips  of  her  jester  :  — 

"  Mistress  !  lady  !  what  has  happened  ?  " 

Katuti  collected  herself,  turned  to  him,  and  tried  to  speak ; 
but  her  pale  lips  remained  closed,  and  her  eyes  gazed  dimly 
into  vacancy  as  though  a  catalepsy  had  seized  her. 

"  Mistress  !  Mistress  ! "  cried  the  dwarf  again,  with  growing 
agitation.     "What  is  the  matter?  shall  I  call  thy  daughter?" 

Katuti  made  a  sign  with  her  hand,  and  cried  feebly,  "  The 
wretches  !  the  reprobates  !  " 

Her  breath  began  to  come  quickly,  the  blood  mounted  to 
her  cheeks  and  her  flashing  eyes  ;  she  trod  upon  the  letter,  and 
wept  so  loud  and  passionately  that  the  dwarf,  who  had  never 
before  seen  tears  in  her  eyes,  raised  himself  timidly,  and  said 
in  mild  reproach,  "  Katuti !  " 

She  laughed  bitterly,  and  said  with  a  trembling  voice  : 

"  Why  do  you  call  my  name  so  loud ;  it  is  disgraced  and 
degraded.  How  the  nobles  and  the  ladies  will  rejoice !  Now 
envy  can  point  at  us  with  spiteful  joy  —  and  a  minute  ago  I 


CONSPIRACY   AND  SORCERY.  135 

was  praising  this  day  !  They  say  one  should  exhibit  one's 
happiness  in  the  streets,  and  conceal  one's  misery  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, on  the  contrary  !  Even  the  gods  should  not  know  of 
one's  hopes  and  joys,  for  they  too  are  envious  and  spiteful  !  " 

Again  she  leaned  her  head  against  the  palm  tree. 

"Thou  speakest  of  shame,  and  not  of  death,"  said  Nemu, 
"  and  I  learned  from  thee  that  one  should  give  nothing  up  for 
lost  excepting  the  dead." 

These  words  had  a  powerful  effect  on  the  agitated  woman. 
Quickly  and  vehemently  she  turned  upon  the  dwarf,  saying  :  — 

"  You  are  clever,  and  faithful  too,  so  listen !  but  if  you 
were  Amon  himself  there  is  nothing  to  be  done " 

"  We  must  try,"  said  Nemu,  and  his  sharp  eyes  met  those 
of  his  mistress. 

"  Speak,"  he  said,  "  and  trust  me.  Perhaps  I  can  be  of  no 
use ;  but  that  I  can  be  silent  thou  knowest." 

"  Before  long  the  children  in  the  streets  will  talk  of  what 
this  tells  me,"  said  Katuti,  laughing  with  bitterness,  "only 
Nefert  must  know  nothing  of  wha,t  has  happened  —  nothing, 
mind ;  what  is  that  ?  the  regent  coming  !  quick,  fly  ;  tell  him 
I  am  suddenly  taken  ill,  very  ill ;  I  cannot  see  him,  not  now ! 
No  one  is  to  be  admitted  —  no  one,  do  you  hear?  " 

The  dwarf  went. 

When  he  came  back  after  he  had  fulfilled  his  errand,  he 
found  his  mistress  still  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 

"  Listen,"  she  said ;  "  first  the  smaller  matter,  then  the 
frightful,  the  unspeakable.  Rameses  loads  Mena  with  marks 
of  his  favor.  It  came  to  a  division  of  the  spoils  of  war,  for 
the  year;  a  great  heap  of  treasure  lay  ready  for  each  of  his 
followers,  and  the  charioteer  had  to  choose  before  all  the 
others." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  dwarf. 

"  Well !  "  echoed  Katuti.  "  Well !  how  did  the  worthy 
householder  care  for  his  belongings  at  home,  how  did  he  seek 
to  relieve  his  indebted  estate  ?  It  is  disgraceful,  hideous ! 
He  passed  by  the  silver,  the  gold,  the  jewels,  with  a  laugh ; 
and  took  the  captive  daughter  of  the  Danaid  princes,  and  led 
her  into  his  tent." 

"  Shameful  !  "  muttered  the  dwarf. 

"  Poor,  poor  Nefert !  "  cried  Katuti,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"  And  what  more  ?  "  asked  Nemu,  hastily. 


136  CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY. 

"That,"  said  Katuti,  "that  is  —  but  I  will  keep  calm- 
quite  calm  and  quiet.  You  know  my  son.  He  is  heedless, 
but  he  loves  me  and  his  sister  more  than  anything  in  the  world. 
I,  fool  as  I  was,  to  persuade  him  to  economy,  had  vividly 
described  our  evil  plight,  and  after  that  disgraceful  conduct  of 
Mena  he  thought  of  us  and  of  our  anxieties.  His  share  of  the 
booty  was  small,  and  could  not  help  us.  His  comrades  threw 
dice  for  the  shares  they  had  obtained  —  he  staked  his  to  win 
more  for  us.  He  lost  —  all  —  all  —  and  at  last  against  an  enor- 
mous sum,  still  thinking  of  us,  and  only  of  us,  he  staked  the 
mummy  of  his  dead  father.  He  lost.  If  he  does  not  redeem 
the  pledge  before  the  expiration  of  the  third  month,  he  will 
fall  into  infamy,  the  mummy  will  belong  to  the  winner,  and 
disgrace  and  ignominy  will  be  my  lot  and  his." 

Katuti  pressed  her  hands  on  her  face,  the  dwarf  muttered 
to  himself,  "  The  gambler  and  hypocrite !  " 

When  his  mistress  had  grown  calmer,  he  said:  — 

"  It  is  horrible,  yet  all  is  not  lost.     How  much  is  the  debt  ?  " 

It  sounded  like  a  heavy  curse,  when  Katuti  replied,  "Thirty 
Babylonian  talents!  " 

The  dwarf  cried  out,  as  if  an  asp  had  stung  him,  "  Who 
dared  to  bid  against  such  a  mad  stake  ?  " 

"  The  Lady  Hathor's  son,  Antef,"  answered  Katuti, "  who  has 
already  gambled  away  the  inheritance  of  his  fathers  in  Thebes." 

"  He  will  not  remit  one  grain  of  wheat  of  his  claim,"  cried 
the  dwarf.     "  And  Mena  ?  " 

"  How  could  my  son  turn  to  him  after  what  has  happened  ? 
The  poor  child  implores  me  to  ask  the  assistance  of  the  regent." 

"  Of  the  regent  ?  "  said  the  dwarf,  shaking  his  big  head. 
"  Impossible  ?  " 

"I  know,  as  matters  now  stand;  but  his  place,  his  name." 

"  Mistress,"  said  the  dwarf,  and  deep  purpose  rang  in  the 
words,  "do  not  spoil  the  future  for  the  sake  of  the  present. 
If  thy  son  loses  his  honor  under  King  Rameses,  the  future 
king,  Ani,  may  restore  it  to  him.  If  the  regent  now  renders 
you  all  an  important  service,  he  will  regard  you  as  amply  paid 
when  our  efforts  have  succeeded,  and  he  sits  on  the  throne. 
He  lets  himself  be  led  by  thee  now  because  thou  hast  no  need 
of  his  help,  and  dost  seem  to  work  only  for  his  sake,  and  for 
his  elevation.  As  soon  as  thou  hast  appealed  to  him,  and  he 
has  assisted  thee,  all  thy  confidence  and  freedom  will  be  gone, 
and  the  more  difficult  he  finds  it  to  raise  so  large  a  sum  of 


CONSPIRACY   AND   SORCERY.  187 

money  at  once,  the  angrier  he  will  be  to  think  that  thou  art 
making  use  of  him.     Thou  knowest  his  circumstances." 

"  He  is  in  debt,"  said  Katuti.     "  I  know  that." 

"  Thou  shouldst  know  it,"  cried  the  dwarf,  "  for  thou  thy- 
self hast  forced  him  to  enormous  expenses.  He  has  won  the 
people  of  Thebes  with  dazzling  festive  displays;  as  guardian 
of  Apis  he  gave  a  large  donation  to  Memphis;  he  bestowed 
thousands  on  the  leaders  of  the  troops  sent  into  Ethiopia, 
which  were  equipped  by  him;  what  his  spies  cost  him  at  the 
camp  of  the  king  thou  knowest.  He  has  borrowed  sums  of 
money  from  most  of  the  rich  men  in  the  country,  and  that  is 
well,  for  so  many  creditors  are  so  many  allies.  The  regent 
is  a  bad  debtor;  but  the  King  Ani,  they  reckon,  will  be  a 
grateful  payer." 

Katuti  looked  at  the  dwarf  in  astonishment. 

"You  know  men!  "  she  said. 

"To  my  sorrow!"  replied  Nemu.  "Do  not  apply  to  the 
regent,  and  before  thou  dost  sacrifice  the  labor  of  years,  and 
thy  future  greatness,  and  that  of  those  near  to  thee,  sacrifice 
thy  son's  honor." 

"And  my  husband's  and  my  own?"  exclaimed  Katuti. 
"How  can  you  know  what  that  is!  Honor  is  a  word  that  the 
slave  may  utter,  but  whose  meaning  he  can  never  comprehend; 
you  rub  the  weals  that  are  raised  on  you  by  blows;  to  me  every 
finger  pointed  at  me  in  scorn  makes  a  wound  like  an  ash-wood 
lance  with  a  poisoned  tip  of  brass.  Oh,  ye  holy  gods!  who  can 
help  us  ?  " 

The  miserable  woman  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  as 
if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  her  own  disgrace. 

The  dwarf  looked  up  at  her  compassionately,  and  said,  in  a 
changed  tone :  — 

"  Dost  thou  remember  the  diamond  which  fell  out  of  Nefert's 
handsomest  ring?  We  hunted  for  it,  and  could  not  find  it. 
Next  day,  as  I  was  going  through  the  room,  I  trod  on  some- 
thing hard ;  I  stooped  down  and  found  the  stone.  What  the 
noble  organ  of  sight,  the  eye,  overlooked,  the  callous  despised 
sole  of  the  foot  found ;  and  perhaps  the  small  slave,  Nemu,  who 
knows  nothing  of  honor,  may  succeed  in  finding  a  mode  of  escape 
which  is  not  revealed  to  the  lofty  soul  of  his  mistress  !  " 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  asked  Katuti. 

"  Escape,"  answered  the  dwarf.  "  Is  it  true  that  thy  sister 
Setchem  has  visited  thee,  and  that  you  are  reconciled?" 


1S8  CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY. 

"  She  offered  me  her  hand,  and  I  took  it !  " 

"  Then  go  to  her.  Men  are  never  more  helpful  than  after  a 
reconciliation.  The  enmity  they  have  driven  out  seems  to  leave, 
as  it  were,  a  freshly  healed  wound  which  must  be  touched  with 
caution  ;  and  Setchem  is  of  thy  own  blood,  and  kind-hearted." 

"  She  is  not  rich,"  replied  Katuti.  "  Every  palm  in  her 
garden  comes  from  her  husband,  and  belongs  to  her  children." 

"  Paaker,  too,  was  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  only  by  the  entreaty  of  his  mother  —  he  hates 
my  son-in-law." 

"  I  know  it,"  muttered  the  dwarf,  "  but  if  Nefert  would  ask 
him?" 

The  widow  drew  herself  up  indignantly.  She  felt  that  she 
had  allowed  the  dwarf  too  much  freedom,  and  ordered  him  to 
leave  her  alone. 

Nemu  kissed  her  robe  and  asked,  timidly  :  — 

"  Shall  I  forget  that  thou  hast  trusted  me,  or  am  I  permitted 
to  consider  further  as  to  thy  son's  safety?" 

Katuti  stood  for  a  moment  undecided,  then  she  said :  — 

"  You  were  clever  enough  to  find  what  I  carelessly  dropped ; 
perhaps  some  god  may  show  you  what  I  ought  to  do.  Now 
leave  me." 

"  Wilt  thou  want  me  early  to-morrow  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  I  will  go  to  the  Necropolis,  and  offer  a  sacrifice." 

"  Go !  "  said  Katuti,  and  went  toward  the  house  with  the 
fatal  letter  in  her  hand. 

Nemu  stayed  behind  alone  ;  he  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
ground,  murmuring  to  himself  :  — 

"  She  must  not  lose  her  honor ;  not  at  present,  or  indeed  all 
will  be  lost.  What  is  this  honor  ?  We  all  come  into  the  world 
without  it,  and  most  of  us  go  to  the  grave  without  knowing  it, 
and  very  good  folks  notwithstanding.  Only  a  few  who  are 
rich  and  idle  weave  it  in  with  the  homely  stuff  of  their  souls, 
as  the  Kuschites  do  their  hair  with  grease  and  oils,  till  it  forms 
a  cap  of  which,  though  it  disfigures  them,  they  are  so  proud 
that  they  would  rather  have  their  ears  cut  off  than  the  mon- 
strous thing.  I  see,  I  see  —  but  before  I  open  my  mouth  I  will 
go  to  my  mother.     She  knows  more  than  twenty  prophets." 

Before  the  sun  had  risen  the  next  morning,  Nemu  got  him- 
self ferried  over  the  Nile,  with  the  small  white  ass  which  Mena's 


CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY.  139 

deceased  father  had  given  him  many  years  before.  He  availed 
himself  of  the  cool  hour  which  precedes  the  rising  of  the  sun 
for  his  ride  through  the  Necropolis. 

Well  acquainted  as  he  was  with  every  stock  and  stone,  he 
avoided  the  highroads  which  led  to  the  goal  of  his  expedition, 
and  trotted  toward  the  hill  which  divides  the  valley  of  the 
royal  tombs  from  the  plain  of  the  Nile. 

Before  him  opened  a  noble  amphitheater  of  lofty  limestone 
peaks,  the  background  of  the  stately  terrace-temple  which  the 
proud  ancestress  of  two  kings  of  the  fallen  family,  the  great  Ha- 
tasu,  had  erected  to  their  memory,  and  to  the  Goddess  Hathor. 
Nemu  left  the  sanctuary  to  his  left,  and  rode  up  the  steep 
hill  path  which  was  the  nearest  way  from  the  plain  to  the 
valley  of  the  tombs. 

Below  him  lay  a  bird's  eye  view  of  the  terrace  building  of 
Hatasu,  and  before  him,  still  slumbering  in  cool  dawn,  was  the 
Necropolis  with  its  houses  and  temples  and  colossal  statues, 
the  broad  Nile  glistening  with  white  sails  under  the  morning 
mist ;  and,  in  the  distant  east,  rosy  with  the  coming  sun,  stood 
Thebes  and  her  gigantic  temples. 

But  the  dwarf  saw  nothing  of  the  glorious  panorama  that 
lay  at  his  feet;  absorbed  in  thought,  and  stooping  over  the 
neck  of  his  ass,  he  let  the  panting  beast  climb  and  rest  at  its 
pleasure. 

When  he  had  reached  half  the  height  of  the  hill,  he  perceived 
the  sound  of  footsteps  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  him. 

The  vigorous  walker  had  soon  reached  him,  and  bid  him 
good  morning,  which  he  civilly  returned. 

The  hill  path  was  narrow,  and  when  Nemu  observed  that 
the  man  who  followed  him  was  a  priest,  he  drew  up  his  donkey 
on  a  level  spot,  and  said  reverently :  — 

"  Pass  on,  holy  father ;  for  thy  two  feet  carry  thee  quicker 
than  my  four." 

"A  sufferer  needs  my  help,"  replied  the  leech  Nebsecht, 
Pentaur's  friend,  whom  we  have  already  seen  in  the  House  of 
Seti,  and  by  the  bed  of  the  paraschites'  daughter ;  and  he  has- 
tened on  so  as  to  gain  on  the  slow  pace  of  the  rider. 

Then  rose  the  glowing  disk  of  the  sun  above  the  eastern 
horizon,  and  from  the  sanctuaries  below  the  travelers  rose  up 
the  pious,  many-voiced  chant  of  praise. 

Nemu  slipped  off  his  ass,  and  assumed  an  attitude  of  prayer  ; 
the  priest  did  the  same ;  but  while  the  dwarf  devoutly  fixed  his 


140  CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY. 

eyes  on  the  new  birth  of  the  Sun  god  from  the  eastern  range, 
the  priest's  eyes  wandered  to  the  earth,  and  his  raised  hand  fell 
to  pick  up  a  rare  fossil  shell  which  lay  on  the  path. 

In  a  few  minutes  Nebsecht  rose,  and  Nemu  followed  him. 

"  It  is  a  fine  morning,"  said  the  dwarf  ;  "  the  holy  fathers 
down  there  seem  more  cheerful  to-day  than  usual." 

The  surgeon  laughed  assent.  "  Do  you  belong  to  the  Ne- 
cropolis? "  he  said.     "  Who  here  keeps  dwarfs  ?  " 

"  No  one,"  answered  the  little  man.  "  But  I  will  ask  thee  a 
question.  Who  that  lives  here  behind  the  hill  is  of  so  much 
importance  that  a  leech  from  the  House  of  Seti  sacrifices  his 
night's  rest  for  him  ?  " 

"  The  one  I  visit  is  mean,  but  the  suffering  is  great,"  an- 
swered Nebsecht. 

Nemu  looked  at  him  with  admiration,  and  muttered  :  — 

"  That  is  noble,  that  is "  but  he  did  not  finish  his  speech  ; 

he  struck  his  brow,  and  exclaimed  :  — 

"  You  are  going,  by  the  desire  of  the  Princess  Bent-Anat, 
to  the  child  of  the  paraschites  tliat  was  run  over.  I  guessed  as 
much.  The  food  must  have  an  excellent  aftertaste,  if  a  gentle- 
man rises  so  early  to  eat  it.     How  is  the  poor  child  doing? " 

There  was  so  much  warmth  in  these  last  words  that  Neb- 
secht, who  had  thought  the  dwarf's  reproach  uncalled  for,  an- 
swered, in  a  friendly  tone  :  — 

"  Not  so  badly ;  she  may  be  saved." 

"  The  gods  be  praised !  "  exclaimed  Nemu,  while  the  priest 
passed  on. 

Nebsecht  went  up  and  down  the  hillside  at  a  redoubled  pace, 
and  had  long  taken  his  place  by  the  couch  of  the  wounded  Uarda 
in  the  hovel  of  the  paraschites,  when  Nemu  drew  near  to  the 
abode  of  his  Mother  Hekt,  from  whom  Paaker  had  received  the 
philter. 

The  old  woman  sat  before  the  door  of  her  cave. 

Near  her  lay  a  board,  fitted  with  crosspieces,  between  which 
a  little  boy  was  stretched  in  such  a  way  that  they  touched  his 
head  and  his  feet. 

Hekt  understood  the  art  of  making  dwarfs ;  playthings  in 
human  form  were  well  paid  for,  and  the  child  on  the  rack,  with 
his  pretty  little  face,  promised  to  be  a  valuable  article. 

As  soon  as  the  sorceress  saw  some  one  approaching  she 
stooped  over  the  child,  took  him  up,  board  and  all,  in  her  arms, 
and  carried  him  into  the  cave.     Then  she  said  sternly  :  — 


CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY.  141 

"  If  you  move,  little  one,  I  will  flog  you  ;  now  let  me  tie  you." 
"  Don't  tie  me,"  said  the  child  ;  "  I  will  be  good,  and  lie 

stiU." 

"  Stretch  yourself  out,"  ordered  the  old  woman,  and  tied  the 
child  with  a  rope  to  the  board.  "  If  you  are  quiet,  I'll  give  you 
a  honey  cake  by  and  by,  and  let  you  play  with  the  young 
chickens." 

The  child  was  quiet,  and  a  soft  smile  of  delight  and  hope 
sparkled  in  his  pretty  eyes.  His  little  hand  caught  the  dress 
of  the  old  woman,  and  with  the  sweetest  coaxing  tone,  which 
God  bestows  on  the  innocent  voices  of  children,  he  said  :  — 

"  I  will  be  as  still  as  a  mouse,  and  no  one  shall  know  that  I 
am  here ;  but  if  you  give  me  the  honey  cake  you  will  untie  me 
for  a  little,  and  let  me  go  to  Uarda." 

"  She  is  ill  —  what  do  you  want  there  ?  " 

"  I  would  take  her  the  cake,"  said  the  child,  and  his  eyes 
glistened  with  tears. 

The  old  woman  touched  the  child's  chin  with  her  finger, 
and  some  mysterious  power  prompted  her  to  bend  over  him  to 
kiss  him.  But  before  her  lips  had  touched  his  face  she  turned 
away,  and  said,  in  a  hard  tone  :  — 

"  Lie  still  !  by  and  by  we  will  see."  Then  she  stooped, 
and  threw  a  brown  sack  over  the  child.  She  went  back  into 
the  open  air,  greeted  Nemu,  entertained  him  with  milk,  bread, 
and  honey,  gave  him  news  of  the  girl  who  had  been  run  over, 
for  he  seemed  to  take  her  misfortune  very  much  to  heart,  and 
finally  asked  :  — 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  The  Nile  was  still  narrow  when 
you  last  found  your  way  to  me,  and  now  it  has  been  falling 
some  time  [beginning  of  November] .  Are  you  sent  by  your 
mistress,  or  do  you  want  my  help  ?  All  the  world  is  alike. 
No  one  goes  to  see  any  one  else  unless  he  wants  to  make  use  of 
him.     What  shall  I  give  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  nothing,"  said  the  dwarf,  "  but " 

"  You  are  commissioned  by  a  third  person,"  said  the  witch, 
laughing.  "  It  is  the  same  thing.  Whoever  wants  a  thing  for 
some  one  else  only  thinks  of  his  own  interest." 

"  May  be,"  said  Nemu.  "  At  any  rate  your  words  show 
that  you  have  not  grown  unwiser  since  I  saw  you  last  —  and  I 
am  glad  of  it,  for  I  want  your  advice." 

"  Advice  is  cheap.  What  is  going  on  out  there  ?  "  Nemu 
related  to  his  mother  shortly,    clearly,  and   without   reserve, 


142  CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY. 

what  was  plotting  in  his  mistress'  house,  and  the  frightful 
disgrace  with  which  she  was  threatened  through  her  son. 

The  old  woman  shook  her  gray  head  thoughtfully  several 
times  ;  but  she  let  the  little  man  go  on  to  the  end  of  his  story 
without  interrupting  him.  Then  she  asked,  and  her  eyes 
flashed  as  she  spoke  :  — 

"  And  you  really  believe  that  you  will  succeed  in  putting 
the  sparrow  on  the  eagle's  perch  —  Ani  on  the  throne  of 
Rameses  !  " 

"  The  troops  fighting  in  Ethiopia  are  for  us,"  cried  Nemu. 
"  The  priests  declare  themselves  against  the  king,  and  recog- 
nize in  Ani  the  genuine  blood  of  Ra." 

"  That  is  much,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"  And  many  dogs  are  the  death  of  the  gazelle,"  said  Nemu, 
laughing. 

"  But  Rameses  is  not  a  gazelle  to  run,  but  a  lion,"  said  the 
old  woman,  gravely.     "  You  are  playing  a  higli  game." 

"  We  know  it,"  answered  Nemu.  "  But  it  is  for  high  stakes 
—  there  is  much  to  win." 

"  And  all  to  lose,"  muttered  the  old  woman,  passing  her 
fingers  round  her  scraggy  neck.  "  Well,  do  as  you  please  — 
it  is  all  the  same  to  me  who  it  is  sends  the  young  to  be  killed, 
and  drives  the  old  folks'  cattle  from  the  field.  What  do  they 
want  with  me  ?  " 

"  No  one  has  sent  me,"  answered  the  dwarf.  "  I  come  of 
my  own  free  fancy  to  ask  you  what  Katuti  must  do  to  save 
her  son  and  her  house  from  dishonor." 

"  Hm  !  "  hummed  the  witch,  looking  at  Nemu  while  she 
raised  herself  on  her  stick.  "  What  has  come  to  you  that  you 
take  the  fate  of  these  great  people  to  heart  as  if  it  were  your 
own  ?  " 

The  dwarf  reddened,  and  answered  hesitatingly,  "  Katuti 
is  a  good  mistress,  and,  if  things  go  well  with  her,  there  may 
be  windfalls  for  you  and  me." 

Hekt  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"  A  loaf  for  you,  perhaps,  and  a  crumb  for  me  !  "  she  said. 
"  There  is  more  than  that  in  your  mind,  and  I  can  read  your 
heart  as  if  you  were  a  ripped-up  raven.  You  are  one  of  those 
who  can  never  keep  their  fingers  at  rest,  and  must  knead  every- 
body's dough  ;  must  push,  and  drive  and  stir  something.  Every 
jacket  is  too  tight  for  you.  If  you  were  three  feet  taller,  and 
the  son  of  a  priest,  you  might  have  gone  far.     High  you  will 


CONSPIRACY  AND  SORCERY.  143 

go,  and  high  you  will  end  ;  as  the  friend  of  a  king  —  or  on 
the  gallows." 

The  old  woman  laughed  ;  but  Nemu  bit  his  lips,  and  said  :  — 

"  If  you  had  sent  me  to  school,  and  if  I  were  not  the  son  of 
a  witch,  and  a  dwarf,  I  would  play  with  men  as  they  played 
with  me  ;  for  I  am  cleverer  than  all  of  them,  and  none  of  their 
plans  are  hidden  from  me.  A  hundred  roads  lie  before  me, 
when  they  don't  know  whether  to  go  out  or  in;  and  where 
they  rush  heedlessly  forward  I  see  the  abyss  that  they  are  run- 
ning to." 

"  And  nevertheless  you  come  to  me  ?  "  said  the  old  woman, 
sarcastically. 

"  I  want  your  advice,"  said  Nemu,  seriously.  "  Four  eyes 
see  more  than  one,  and  the  impartial  looker-on  sees  clearer  than 
the  player;  besides,  you  are  bound  to  help  me." 

The  old  woman  laughed  loud  in  astonishment.  "  Bound !  " 
she  said,  "  I  ?  and  to  what,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  To  help  me,"  replied  the  dwarf,  half  in  entreaty,  and  half 
in  reproach.  "  You  deprived  me  of  my  growth,  and  reduced  me 
to  a  cripple." 

"  Because  no  one  is  better  off  than  you  dwarfs,"  interrupted 
the  witch. 

Nemu  shook  his  head,  and  answered  sadly  :  — 

"  You  have  often  said  so  —  and  perhaps  for  many  others,  who 
are  born  in  misery  like  me  —  perhaps  —  you  are  right;  but  for 
me  —  you  have  spoiled  my  life;  you  have  crippled  not  my  body 
only,  but  my  soul,  and  have  condemned  me  to  sufferings  that  are 
nameless  and  unutterable." 

The  dwarf's  big  head  sank  on  his  breast,  and  with  his  left 
hand  he  pressed  his  heart. 

The  old  woman  went  up  to  him  kindly. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  thought  it  was  well  with 
you  in  Mena's  house." 

"  You  thought  so  ?  "  cried  the  dwarf.  "  You  who  show  me 
as  in  a  mirror  what  I  am,  and  how  mysterious  powers  throng 
and  stir  in  me?  You  made  me  what  I  am  by  your  arts;  you 
sold  me  to  the  treasurer  of  Rameses,  and  he  gave  me  to  the 
father  of  Mena,  his  brother-in-law.  Fifteen  years  ago !  I  way 
a  young  man  then,  a  youth  like  any  other,  only  more  passionate, 
more  restless  and  fiery  than  they.  I  was  given  as  a  playtliing 
to  the  young  Mena,  and  he  harnessed  me  to  his  little  chariot, 
aoid  dressed  me  out  with  ribbons  and  feathers,  and  flogged  me 


144  CONSPIRACY   AND  SORCERY. 

when  I  did  not  go  fast  enougli.  How  the  girl  —  for  whom  1 
would  have  given  my  life  —  the  porter's  daughter,  laughed  wlien 
I,  dressed  up  in  motley,  hopped  panting  in  front  of  the  chariot, 
and  the  young  lord's  whip  whistled  in  my  ears,  wringing  the 
sweat  from  my  brow,  and  the  blood  from  my  broken  heart. 
Then  Mena's  father  died,  the  boy  went  to  school,  and  I  waited 
on  the  wife  of  his  steward,  whom  Katuti  banished  to  Hermonthis. 
That  was  a  time!  The  little  daughter  of  the  house  made  a  doll 
of  me,  laid  me  in  the  cradle,  and  made  me  shut  my  eyes  and 
pretend  to  sleep,  while  love  and  hatred,  and  great  projects  were 
strong  within  me.  If  I  tried  to  resist  they  beat  me  with  rods; 
and  when  once,  in  a  rage,  I  forgot  myself,  and  hit  little  Mertitefs 
hard,  Mena,  who  came  in,  hung  me  up  in  the  storeroom  to  a  nail 
by  my  girdle,  and  left  me  to  swing  there;  he  said  he  had  for- 
gotten to  take  me  down  again.  The  rats  fell  upon  me;  here 
are  the  scars,  these  little  white  spots  here  —  look !  They  per- 
haps will  some  day  wear  out,  but  the  wounds  that  my  spirit 
received  in  those  hours  have  not  yet  ceased  to  bleed.  Then 
Mena  married  Nefert,  and,  with  her,  his  mother-in-law  Katuti 
came  into  the  house.  She  took  me  from  the  steward,  I  became 
indispensable  to  her;  she  treats  me  like  a  man,  she  values  my 
intelligence  and  listens  to  my  advice  —  therefore  I  will  make 
her  great,  and  with  her,  and  through  her,  I  will  wax  mighty. 
If  Ani  mounts  the  throne,  we  will  guide  him  —  you,  and  I,  and 
she!  Rameses  must  fall,  and  with  him  Mena,  the  boy  who  de- 
graded my  body  and  poisoned  my  soul !  " 

During  this  speech  the  old  woman  had  stood  in  silence  oppo- 
site the  dwarf.  Now  she  sat  down  on  her  rough  wooden  seat, 
and  said,  while  she  proceeded  to  pluck  a  lapwing:  — 

"  Now  I  understand  you ;  you  wish  to  be  revenged.  You 
hope  to  rise  high,  and  I  am  to  whet  your  knife,  and  hold  the 
ladder  for  you.  Poor  little  man!  There,  sit  down  —  drink  a 
gulp  of  milk  to  cool  you,  and  listen  to  my  advice.  Katuti 
wants  a  great  deal  of  money  to  escape  dishonor.  She  need 
only  pick  it  up  —  it  lies  at  her  door." 

The  dwarf  looked  at  the  witch  in  astonishment. 

"  The  Mohar  Paaker  is  her  sister  Setchem's  son,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"As  you  say." 

"  Katuti's  daughter  Nefert  is  the  wife  of  your  master  Mena, 
and  another  would  like  to  tempt  the  neglected  little  hen  into 
his  yard." 

"  You  mean  Paaker,  to  whom  Nefert  was  promised  before  she 
went  after  Mena." 


CONSPIRACY   AND  SORCERY.  145 

"  Paaker  was  with  me  the  day  before  yesterday.*' 

"  With  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  me,  with  old  Hekt  —  to  buy  a  love  philter.  I 
gave  him  one,  and  as  I  was  curious  I  went  after  him,  saw  him 
give  the  water  to  the  little  lady,  and  found  out  her  name." 

"  And  Nefert  drank  the  magic  drink  ?  "  asked  the  dwarf, 
horrified. 

"  Vinegar  and  turnip  juice,"  laughed  the  old  witch.  "  A 
lord  who  comes  to  me  to  win  a  wife  is  ripe  for  anything.  Let 
Nefert  ask  Paaker  for  the  money,  and  the  young  scapegrace's 
debts  are  paid." 

"  Katuti  is  proud,  and  repulsed  me  severely  when  I  pro- 
posed this." 

"  Then  she  must  sue  to  Paaker  herself  for  the  money.  Go 
back  to  him,  make  him  hope  that  Nefert  is  inclined  to  him,  tell 
him  what  distresses  the  ladies,  and  if  he  refuses,  but  only  if 
he  refuses,  let  him  see  that  you  know  something  of  the  little 
dose." 

The  dwarf  looked  meditatively  on  the  ground,  and  then 
said,  looking  admiringly  at  the  old  woman,  "  That  is  the  right 
thing." 

"  You  will  find  out  the  lie  without  my  telling  you,"  mumbled 
the  witch  ;  "  your  business  is  not  perhaps  such  a  bad  one  as  it 
seemed  to  me  at  first.  Katuti  may  thank  the  ne'er-do-well  who 
staked  his  father's  corpse.  You  don't  understand  me  ?  Well, 
if  you  are  really  the  sharpest  of  them  all  over  there,  what  must 
the  others  be  ?  " 

"  You  mean  that  people  will  speak  well  of  my  mistress  for 
sacrificing  so  large  a  sum  for  the  sake " 

"  Whose  sake  ?  why  speak  well  of  her  ? "  cried  the  old 
woman,  impatiently.  "  Here  we  deal  with  other  things,  with 
actual  facts.  There  stands  Paaker  —  there  the  wife  of  Mena. 
If  the  Mohar  sacrifices  a  fortune  for  Nefert,  he  will  be  her 
master,  and  Katuti  will  not  stand  in  his  way  ;  she  knows  well 
enough  why  her  nephew  pays  for  her.  But  some  one  else 
stops  the  way,  and  that  is  Mena.  It  is  worth  while  to  get  him 
out  of  the  way.  The  charioteer  stands  close  to  the  Pharaoh, 
and  the  noose  that  is  flung  at  one  may  easily  fall  round  the 
neck  of  the  other  too.  Make  the  Mohar  your  ally,  and  it  may 
easily  happen  that  your  rat  bites  may  be  paid  for  with  mortal 
wounds,  and  Kameses  who,  if  you  marched  against  him  openly, 
might  blow  you  to  the  ground,  may  be  hit  by  a  lance  thrown 


146  CONSPIRACY   AND  SORCERY. 

from  an  ambush.  When  the  throne  is  clear,  the  weak  legs  of 
the  regent  may  succeed  in  clamoring  up  to  it  with  the  help  of 
the  priests.  Here  you  sit  —  open-mouthed  ;  and  I  have  told 
you  nothing  that  you  might  not  have  found  out  for  yourself." 

"  You  are  a  perfect  cask  of  wisdom  I  "  exclaimed  the  dwarf. 

"  And  now  you  will  go  away,"  said  Hekt,  "  and  reveal  your 
schemes  to  your  mistress  and  the  regent,  and  they  will  be 
astonished  at  your  cleverness.  To-day  you  still  know  that  I 
have  shown  you  what  you  have  to  do ;  to-morrow  you  will 
have  forgotten  it ;  and  the  day  after  to-morrow  you  will  be- 
lieve yourself  possessed  by  the  inspiration  of  the  nine  great 
gods.  I  know  that ;  but  I  cannot  give  anything  for  nothing. 
You  live  by  your  smallness,  another  makes  his  living  with  his 
hard  hands,  I  earn  my  scanty  bread  by  the  thoughts  of  my 
brain.  Listen  !  when  you  have  half  won  Paaker,  and  Ani 
shows  himself  inclined  to  make  use  of  him,  then  say  to  him 
that  I  may  know  a  secret  —  and  I  do  know  one,  I  alone  — 
which  may  make  the  Mohar  the  sport  of  his  wishes,  and  that 
I  may  be  disposed  to  sell  it." 

"  That  shall  be  done  !  certainly,  mother,"  cried  the  dwarf. 
"  What  do  you  wish  for  ?  " 

"Very  little,"  said  the  old  woman.  "Only  a  permit  that 
makes  me  free  to  do  and  to  practice  whatever  I  please,  un- 
molested even  by  the  priests,  and  to  receive  an  honorable 
burial  after  my  death." 

"  The  regent  will  hardly  agree  to  that ;  for  he  must  avoid 
everything  that  may  offend  the  servants  of  the  gods." 

"  And  do  everything,"  retorted  the  old  woman,  "  that  can 
degrade  Rameses  in  their  sight.  Ani,  do  you  hear,  need  not 
write  me  a  new  license,  but  only  renew  the  old  one  granted  to 
me  by  Rameses  when  I  cured  his  favorite  horse.  They  burnt 
it  with  my  other  possessions,  when  they  plundered  my  house, 
and  denounced  me  and  my  belongings  for  sorcery.  The  permit 
of  Rameses  is  what  I  want,  nothing  more." 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  said  the  dwarf.  "  Good-by  ;  I  am 
charged  to  look  into  the  tomb  of  our  house,  and  see  whether 
the  offerings  for  the  dead  are  regularly  set  out ;  to  pour  out 
fresh  essences  and  have  various  things  renewed.  When  Sechet 
has  ceased  to  rage  and  it  is  cooler,  I  shall  come  by  here  again, 
for  I  should  like  to  call  on  the  paraschites  and  see  how  the 
poor  child  is." 


ADDRESS  TO   A  MUMMY.  147 

ADDRESS   TO   THE   MUMMY   IN   BELZONI'S 
EXHIBITION. 

By  HORACE  SMITH. 

[English:    1779-1849;    joint   author   with   hia   brother  James   of  "Rejected 

Addresses."] 

And  thou  hast  walked  about  (how  strange  a  story !) 
In  Thebes'  streets  three  thousand  years  ago, 

When  the  Memnonium  was  in  all  its  glory, 
And  time  had  not  begun  to  overthrow 

Those  temples,  palaces,  and  piles  stupendous, 

Of  which  the  very  ruins  are  tremendous ! 

Speak  !  for  thou  long  enough  hast  acted  dummy ; 

Thou  hast  a  tongue,  come,  let  us  hear  its  tune ; 
Thou'rt  standing  on  thy  legs  above  ground,  mummy ! 

Revisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon. 
Not  like  thin  ghosts  or  disembodied  creatures, 
But  with  thy  bones  and  flesh,  and  limbs  and  featurea 

Tell  us  —  for  doubtless  thou  canst  recollect  — 
To  whom  should  we  assign  the  Sphinx's  fame  ? 

Was  Cheops  or  Cephrenes  architect 

Of  either  pyramid  that  bears  his  name  ? 

Is  Pompey's  pillar  really  a  misnomer  ? 

Had  Thebes  a  hundred  gates,  as  sung  by  Homer  ? 

Perhaps  thou  wert  a  mason,  and  forbidden 
By  oath  to  tell  the  secrets  of  thy  trade, — 

Then  say,  what  secret  melody  was  hidden 

In  Memnon's  statue,  which  at  sunrise  played  ? 

Perhaps  thou  wert  a  priest,  —  if  so,  my  struggles 

Are  vain,  for  priestcraft  never  owns  its  juggles. 

Perchance  that  very  hand,  now  pinioned  flat, 
Has  hob-arnobbed  with  Pharaoh,  glass  to  glass ; 

'Or  dropped  a  halfpenny  in  Homer's  hat, 

Or  doffed  thine  own  to  let  Queen  Dido  pass. 

Or  held,  by  Solomon's  own  invitation, 

A  torch  at  the  great  Temple's  dedication. 

I  need  not  ask  thee  if  that  hand,  when  armed. 
Has  any  Roman  soldier  mauled  and  knuckled, 

For  thou  wert  dead,  and  buried,  and  embalmed, 
Ere  Romulus  and  Remus  had  been  suckled : 

Antiquity  appears  to  have  begun 

Long  after  thy  primeval  race  was  run. 


148  ADDRESS  TO   A  MUMMY. 

Thou  couldst  develop,  if  that  withered  tongue 
Might  tell  us  what  those  sightless  orbs  have  seen, 

How  the  world  looked  when  it  was  fresh  and  young, 
And  the  great  deluge  still  had  left  it  green ; 

Or  was  it  then  so  old,  that  history's  pages 

Contained  no  record  of  its  early  ages  ? 

Still  silent,  incommunicative  elf ! 

Art  sworn  to  secrecy  ?  then  keep  thy  vows ; 
But  prithee  tell  us  something  of  thyself ; 

Reveal  the  secrets  of  thy  prison  house ; 
Since  in  the  world  of  spirits  thou  hast  slumbered, 
What  hast  thou  seen,  —  what  strange  adventures  numbered  ? 

Since  first  thy  form  was  in  this  box  extended, 

We  have,  above  ground,  seen  some  strange  mutations; 

The  Roman  empire  has  begun  and  ended, 

New  worlds  have  risen,  —  we  have  lost  old  nations, 

And  countless  kings  have  into  dust  been  humbled. 

Whilst  not  a  fragment  of  thy  flesh  has  crumbled. 

Didst  thou  not  hear  the  pother  o'er  thy  head. 
When  the  great  Persian  conqueror,  Cambyses, 

Marched  armies  o'er  thy  tomb  with  thundering  tread, 
O'erthrew  Osiris,  Orus,  Apis,  Isis, 

And  shook  the  pyramids  with  fear  and  wonder, 

When  the  gigantic  Memnon  fell  asunder  ? 

If  the  tomb's  secrets  may  not  be  confessed, 

The  nature  of  thy  private  life  imfold : 
A  heart  has  throbbed  beneath  that  leathern  breast, 

And  tears  adown  that  dusky  cheek  have  rolled : 
Have  children  climbed  those  knees,  and  kissed  that  face  ? 
What  was  thy  name  and  station,  age  and  race  ? 

Statue  of  flesh,  —  immortal  of  the  dead ! 

Imperishable  type  of  evanescence ! 
Posthumous  man,  who  quittest  thy  narrow  bed. 

And  standest  undecayed  within  our  presence. 
Thou  wilt  hear  nothing  till  the  judgment  morning, 
When  the  great  trump  shall  thrill  thee  with  its  wai'ning. 

Why  should  this  worthless  tegument  endure, 

If  its  undying  guest  be  lost  forever  ? 
0,  let  us  keep  the  soul  embalmed  and  pure 

In  living  virtue,  that,  when  both  must  sever, 
Although  corruption  may  our  frame  consume, 
The  immortal  spirit  in  the  skies  may  bloom. 


SETNA    AND    THE    MAGIC    BOOK.  149 

SETNA   AND   THE   MAGIC   BOOK. 

Fbom  the  Egyptian;  tbanslatrd  by  W.  M.  FLINDERS  PETRIE. 

The  mighty  King  User-maat-ra  (Rameses  the  Great)  had 
a  son  named  Setna  Kha-era-uast,  who  was  a  great  scribe  and 
very  learned  in  all  the  ancient  writings.  And  he  heard  that 
the  magic  book  of  Thoth  —  by  which  a  man  may  enchant 
heaven  and  earth,  and  know  the  language  of  all  birds  and 
beasts  —  was  buried  in  the  cemetery  of  Memphis.  And  he 
went  to  search  for  it  with  his  brother  An-he-hor-eru ;  and 
when  they  found  the  tomb  of  the  king's  son,  Na-nefer-ka- 
ptah,  son  of  the  king  of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt,  Mer-neb- 
ptah,  Setna  opened  it  and  went  in. 

Now  in  the  tomb  was  Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  and  with  him  was 
the  ka  of  his  wife,  Ahura ;  for  though  she  was  buried  at  Kop- 
tos,  her  ka  dwelt  at  Memphis  with  her  husband,  whom  she 
loved.  And  Setna  saw  them  seated  before  their  offerings, 
and  the  book  lay  between  them.  And  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  said 
to  Setna,  "  Who  are  you  that  break  into  my  tomb  in  this 
way  ?  "  He  said,  "  I  am  Setna,  son  of  the  great  King  User- 
maat-ra,  living  forever ;  and  I  come  for  that  book  which  I 
see  between  you."  And  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  said,  "It  cannot  be 
given  to  you."  Then  said  Setna,  "But  I  will  carry  it  away 
by  force."  Then  Ahura  said  to  Setna:  "Do  not  take  this 
book,  for  it  will  bring  trouble  on  you  as  it  has  upon  us. 
Listen  to  what  we  have  suffered  for  it." 

Ahura's  Tale. 

"  We  were  the  two  children  of  the  King  Mer-neb-ptah,  and 
he  loved  us  very  much,  for  he  had  no  others ;  and  Na-nefer- 
ka-ptah  was  in  his  palace  as  heir  over  all  the  land.  And 
when  we  were  grown,  the  king  said  to  the  queen,  '  I  will 
marry  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  to  the  daughter  of  a  general,  and 
Ahura  to  the  son  of  another  general.'  And  the  queen  said, 
'  No,  he  is  the  heir :  let  him  marry  his  sister,  like  the  heir  of 
a  king ;  none  other  is  fit  for  him.'  And  the  king  said,  'That 
is  not  fair  :  they  had  better  be  married  to  the  children  of  the 
general.'  And  the  queen  said,  'It  is  you  who  are  not  dealing 
rightly  with  me.'  And  the  king  answered:  'If  I  have  no 
more   than  these  two  children,  is   it   right  that  they  should 


150  SETNA    AND    THE    MAGIC    BOOK. 

marry  one  another?  I  will  marry  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  to  the 
daughter  of  an  officer,  and  Ahura  to  the  son  of  another  offi- 
cer.    It  has  often  been  done  so  in  our  family.' 

"  And  at  a  time  when  there  was  a  great  feast  before  the 
king,  they  came  to  fetch  me  to  the  feast.  And  I  was  very 
troubled,  and  did  not  behave  as  I  used  to  do.  And  the  king 
said  to  me,  'Ahura,  have  you  sent  some  one  to  me  about 
this  sorry  matter,  saying,  "  Let  me  be  married  to  my  elder 
brother  ?  "  '  I  said  to  him,  '  Well,  let  me  marry  the  son  of 
an  officer,  and  he  marry  the  daughter  of  another  officer,  as  it 
often  happens  so  in  our  family.'  I  laughed  and  the  king 
laughed.  And  the  king  told  the  steward  of  the  palace,  'Let 
them  take  Ahura  to  the  house  of  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  to-night, 
and  all  kinds  of  good  things  with  her.'  So  they  brought  me 
as  a  wife  to  the  house  of  Na-nefer-ka-ptah ;  and  the  king 
ordered  them  to  give  me  presents  of  silver  and  gold  and 
things  from  the  palace. 

"  And  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  passed  a  happy  time  with  me,  and 
received  all  the  presents  from  the  palace,  and  we  loved  one 
another.  And  when  I  expected  a  child,  they  told  the  king, 
and  he  was  most  heartily  glad  ;  and  he  sent  me  many  tilings, 
and  a  present  of  the  best  silver  and  gold  and  linen.  And 
when  the  time  came,  I  bore  this  little  child  that  is  before  you. 
And  they  gave  him  the  name  of  Mer-ab,  and  registered  him 
in  the  book  of  the  'House  of  life.' 

"  And  when  my  brother  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  went  to  the 
cemetery  of  Memphis,  he  did  nothing  on  earth  but  read  the 
writings  that  are  in  the  catacombs  of  the  kings,  and  the  tab- 
lets of  the  '  House  of  life,'  and  the  inscriptions  that  are  seen 
on  the  monuments  ;  and  he  worked  hard  on  the  writings.  And 
there  was  a  priest  there  called  Nesi-ptah  ;  and  as  Na-nefer-ka- 
ptah  went  into  a  temple  to  pray,  it  happened  that  he  went 
behind  this  priest,  and  was  reading  the  inscriptions  that  were 
on  the  chapels  of  the  gods.  And  the  priest  mocked  him  and 
laughed.  So  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  said  to  him,  '  Why  are  you 
laughing  at  me?'  And  he  replied,  'I  was  not  laughing  at 
you,  or  if  I  happened  to  do  so,  it  was  at  your  reading  writ- 
ings that  are  worthless.  If  you  wish  so  much  to  read  writ- 
ings, come  to  me,  and  I  will  bring  you  to  the  place  where 
the  book  is  which  Thoth  himself  wrote  with  his  own  hand, 
and  which  will  bring  you  to  the  gods.  When  you  read  but 
two  pages  in  this,  you  will  enchant  the  heaven,  the  earth,  the 


SETNA  AND  THE  MAGIC  BOOK.  151 

abyss,  the  mountains,  and  the  sea  ;  you  shall  know  what  the 
birds  of  the  sky  and  the  crawling  things  are  saying ;  you  shall 
see  the  fishes  of  the  deep,  for  a  divine  power  is  there  to  bring 
them  up  out  of  the  depth.  And  when  you  read  the  second 
page,  if  you  are  in  the  world  of  ghosts,  you  will  become  again 
in  the  shape  you  were  in  on  earth.  You  will  see  the  sun  shin- 
ing in  the  sky,  with  all  the  gods,  and  the  full  moon.' 

"  And  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  said,  '  By  the  life  of  the  king  !  tell 
me  of  anything  you  want  done  and  I'll  do  it  for  you,  if  you 
will  only  send  me  where  this  book  is.'  And  the  priest  an- 
swered Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  '  If  you  want  to  go  to  the  place 
where  the  book  is,  you  must  give  me  a  hundred  pieces  of 
silver  for  my  funeral,  and  provide  that  they  shall  bury  me  as 
a  rich  priest.'  So  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  called  his  lad  and  told 
him  to  give  the  priest  a  hundred  pieces  of  silver ;  and  he 
made  them  do  as  he  wished,  even  everything  that  he  asked 
for.  Then  the  priest  said  to  Na-nefer-ka-ptah :  '  This  book 
is  in  the  middle  of  the  river  at  Koptos,  in  an  iron  box  ;  in 
the  iron  box  is  a  bronze  box  ;  in  the  bronze  box  is  a  sycamore 
box ;  in  the  sycamore  box  is  an  ivory  and  ebony  box ;  in  the 
ivory  and  ebony  box  is  a  silver  box ;  in  the  silver  box  is  a 
golden  box,  and  in  that  is  the  book.  It  is  twisted  all  round 
with  snakes  and  scorpions  and  all  the  other  crawling  things 
around  the  box  in  which  the  book  is ;  and  there  is  a  deathless 
snake  by  the  box.'  And  when  the  priest  told  Na-nefer-ka-ptah, 
he  did  not  know  where  on  earth  he  was,  he  was  so  much  delighted. 

"  And  when  he  came  from  the  temple,  he  told  me  all  that 
had  happened  to  him.  And  he  said,  'I  shall  go  to  Koptos, 
for  I  must  fetch  this  book ;  I  will  not  stay  any  longer  in  the 
north.'  And  I  said,  'Let  me  dissuade  you,  for  you  prepare 
sorrow,  and  you  will  bring  me  into  trouble  in  the  Thebaid.' 
And  I  laid  my  hand  on  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  to  keep  him  from 
going  to  Koptos,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  me ;  and  he  went 
to  the  king  and  told  the  king  all  that  the  priest  had  said.  The 
king  asked  him,  '  What  is  it  that  you  want  ?  '  and  he  replied, 
'  Let  them  give  me  the  royal  boat  with  its  belongings,  for  I 
will  go  to  the  south  with  Ahura  and  her  little  boy  Mer-ab, 
and  fetch  this  book  without  delay.'  So  they  gave  him  the 
royal  boat  with  its  belongings ;  and  we  went  with  him  to 
the  haven,  and  sailed  from  there  up  to  Koptos. 

"  Then  the  priests  of  Isis  of  Koptos  and  the  high  priest 
of   Isis  came   down  to  us  without  waiting  to  meet  Na-nefer- 


152  SETNA  AND  THE  MAGIC  BOOK. 

ka-ptah  and  their  wives  also  came  to  me.  We  went  into  the 
temple  of  I&is  and  Harpokrates ;  and  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  brought 
an  ox,  a  goose,  and  some  wine,  and  made  a  burnt  offering  and 
a  drink  offering  before  Isis  of  Koptos  and  Harpokrates.  They 
brought  us  to  a  very  fine  house  with  all  good  things ;  and 
Na-nefer-ka-ptah  spent  four  days  there,  and  feasted  with  the 
priests  of  Isis  of  Koptos,  and  the  wives  of  the  priests  of  Isis 
also  made  holiday  with  me. 

"  And  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  came  ;  and  Na-nefer- 
ka-ptah  called  a  priest  t^  him,  and  made  a  magic  cabin  that 
was  full  of  men  and  tackle.  He  put  the  spell  upon  it,  and 
put  life  in  it,  and  gave  them  breath,  and  sank  it  in  the  water. 
He  filled  the  royal  boat  with  sand,  and  took  leave  of  me,  and 
sailed  from  the  haven  ;  :.m\  I  sat  by  the  river  at  Koptos  that 
I  might  see  what  would  become  of  him.  And  he  said,  '  Work- 
men, work  for  me,  even  at  the  place  where  the  book  is.'  And 
they  toiled  by  night  and  by  day ;  and  when  they  had  reached 
it  in  three  days,  he  threw  the  sand  out,  and  made  a  shoal  in 
the  river.  And  then  he  found  on  it  entwined  serpents  and 
scorpions  and  all  kinds  of  crawling  things  around  the  box  in 
which  the  book  was ;  and  by  it  he  found  a  deathless  snake 
around  the  box.  And  he  laid  the  spell  upon  the  entwined 
serpents  and  scorpions  and  all  kinds  of  crawling  things  which 
were  around  the  box,  that  they  should  not  come  out.  And 
he  went  to  the  deathless  snake,  and  fought  with  him,  and 
killed  him ;  but  he  came  to  life  again  and  took  a  new  form. 
He  then  fought  again  with  him  a  second  time ;  but  he  came 
to  life  agfain  and  took  a  third  form.  He  then  cut  him  in 
two  parts  and  put  sand  between  the  parts,  that  he  should 
not  appear  again. 

"  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  then  went  to  the  place  where  he  found 
the  box.  He  uncovered  a  box  of  iron  and  opened  it ;  he  found 
then  a  box  of  bronze  and  opened  that;  then  he  found  a  box 
of  sycamore  wood  and  opened  that ;  again,  he  found  a  box 
of  ivory  and  ebony  and  opened  that ;  yet  he  found  a 
box  of  silver  and  opened  that ;  and  then  he  found  a  box  of 
gold  ;  he  opened  that  and  found  the  book  in  it.  He  took  the 
book  from  the  golden  box,  and  read  a  page  of  spells  from  it. 
He  enchanted  the  heaven  and  the  earth,  the  abyss,  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  sea ;  he  knew  what  the  birds  of  the  sky,  the 
fish  of  the  deep,  and  the  beasts  of  the  hills  all  said.  He  read 
another  page  of  the  spells,  and  saw  the  sun  shining  in  the  sky, 


SETNA  AND  THE  MAGIC  BOOK.  153 

with  all  the  gods,  the  full  moon,  and  the  stars  in  their  shapes ; 
he  saw  the  fishes  of  the  deep,  for  a  divine  power  was  present 
that  brought  them  up  from  the  water.  He  then  read  the  spell 
upon  the  workmen  that  he  had  made,  and  taken  from  the 
haven,  and  said  to  them,  'Work  for  me  back  to  the  place 
from  which  I  came.'  And  they  toiled  night  and  day,  and  so 
he  came  back  to  the  place  where  I  sat  by  the  river  Koptos ; 
I  had  not  drunk  nor  eaten  anything,  and  had  done  nothing 
on  earth,  but  sat  like  one  who  is  gone  to  the  grave. 

"I  then  told  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  that  I  wished  to  see  this 
book  for  which  we  had  taken  so  much  trouble.  He  gave  the 
book  into  my  hands  ;  and  when  I  read  a  page  of  the  spells 
in  it,  I  also  enchanted  heaven  and  earth,  the  abyss,  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  sea ;  I  also  knew  what  the  birds  of  the  sky,  the 
fishes  of  the  deep,  and  the  beasts  of  the  hills  all  said.  I  read 
another  page  of  the  spells,  and  I  saw  the  sun  shining  in  the 
sky,  with  all  the  gods,  the  full  moon,  and  the  stars  in  their 
shapes ;  I  saw  the  fishes  of  the  deep,  for  a  divine  power  was 
present  that  brought  them  up  from  the  water.  As  I  could 
not  write,  I  asked  Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  who  was  a  good  writer 
and  a  very  learned  one ;  he  called  for  a  new  piece  of  papyrus, 
and  wrote  on  it  all  that  was  in  the  book  before  him.  He 
dipped  it  in  beer,  and  washed  it  off  in  the  liquid ;  for  he  knew 
that  if  it  were  washed  off  and  he  drank  it,  he  would  know  all 
that  there  was  in  the  writing. 

"  We  returned  back  to  Koptos  the  same  day,  and  made  a 
feast  before  Isis  of  Koptos  and  Harpokrates.     We  then  went 
to  the  haven  and  sailed,  and  went  northward  of  Koptos.     And 
as  we  went  on  Thoth  discovered  all  that  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  had 
done  with  the  book ;  and  Thoth  hastened  to  tell  Ra,  and  said, 
'  Now  know  that  my  book  and  my  revelation  are  with  Na-nefer- 
ka-ptah,  son  of  the  King  Mer-neb-ptah.     He  has  forced  himself 
into  my  place,  and  robbed  it,  and  seized  my  box  with  the  writ- 
ings, and  killed  my  guards  who  protected  it.'     And  Ra  replied 
to  him,  '  He  is  before  you ;  take  him  and  all  his  kin.'     He  sent 
a  power  from  heaven  with  the  command,  '  Do  not  let  Na-nefer- 
ka-ptah  return  safe  to  Memphis  with  all  his  kin.'     And  after 
this  hour,  the  little  boy  Mer-ab,  going  out  from  the  awning 
of  the  royal  boat,  fell  into  the  river.     He  called  on  Ra,  and 
everybody  who  was  on  the  bank  raised  a  cry.     Na-nefer-ka- 
ptah  went  out  of  the  cabin,  and  read  the  spell  over  him  ;  he 
brought  his  body  up  because  a  divine  power  brought  him  to 


154  SETNA  AND   THE  MAGIC   BOOK. 

the  surface.  He  read  another  spell  over  him,  and  made  him 
tell  of  all  what  happened  to  him,  and  of  what  Thoth  had  said 
before  Ra. 

"  We  turned  back  with  him  to  Koptos.  We  brought  him 
to  the  Good  House ;  we  fetched  the  people  to  him,  and  made 
one  embalm  him ;  and  we  buried  him  in  his  coffin  in  the  ceme- 
tery of  Koptos  like  a  great  and  noble  person. 

"  And  Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  my  brother,  said,  '  Let  us  go  down ; 
let  us  not  delay,  for  the  king  has  not  yet  heard  of  what  has 
happened  to  him,  and  his  heart  will  be  sad  about  it.'  So  we 
went  to  the  haven,  we  sailed,  and  did  not  stay  to  the  north 
of  Koptos.  When  we  were  come  to  the  place  where  the  little 
boy  Mer-ab  had  fallen  in  the  water,  I  went  out  from  the  awn- 
ing of  the  royal  boat,  and  I  fell  into  the  river.  They  called 
Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  and  he  came  out  from  the  cabin  of  the  royal 
boat ;  he  read  a  spell  over  me,  and  brought  my  body  up,  be- 
cause a  divine  power  brought  me  to  the  surface.  He  drew 
me  out,  and  read  the  spell  over  me,  and  made  me  tell  him 
of  all  that  had  happened  to  mo,  and  of  what  Thoth  had  said 
before  Ra.  Then  he  turned  back  with  me  to  Koptos;  he 
brought  me  to  the  Good  House,  he  fetched  the  people  to  me, 
and  made  one  embalm  me,  as  great  and  noble  people  are  buried, 
and  laid  me  in  the  tomb  where  Mer-ab,  my  young  child,  was. 

"  He  turned  to  the  haven,  and  sailed  down,  and  delayed 
not  in  the  north  of  Koptos.  When  he  was  come  to  the  place 
where  we  fell  into  the  river,  he  said  to  his  heart,  '  Shall  I  not 
better  turn  back  again  to  Koptos,  that  I  may  lie  by  them? 
For,  if  not,  when  I  go  down  to  Memphis,  and  the  king  asks 
after  his  children,  what  shall  I  say  to  him?  Can  I  tell  him, 
"  I  have  taken  your  children  to  the  Thebaid  and  killed  them, 
while  I  remained  alive,  and  I  have  come  to  Memphis  still 
alive  ? " '  Then  he  made  them  bring  him  a  linen  cloth  of 
striped  byssus;  he  made  a  band  and  bound  the  book  firmly, 
and  tied  it  upon  him.  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  then  went  out  of  the 
awning  of  the  royal  boat  and  fell  into  the  river.  He  cried 
on  Ra,  and  all  those  who  were  on  the  bank  made  an  outcry, 
saying,  '  Great  woe  !  sad  woe !  Is  he  lost,  that  good  scribe 
and  able  man  that  has  no  equal  ? ' 

"  The  royal  boat  went  on  without  any  one  on  earth  knowing 
where  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  was.  It  went  on  to  Memphis,  and  they 
told  all  this  to  the  king.  Then  the  king  went  down  to  the 
royal  boat  in  mourning,  and  all  the  soldiers  and  high  priests 


SETNA    AND   THE   MAGIC   BOOK.  155 

and  priests  of  Ptah  were  in  mourning,  and  all  the  officials  and 
courtiers.  And  when  he  saw  Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  who  was  in  the 
inner  cabin  of  the  royal  boat,  —  from  his  rank  of  high  scribe,  — 
he  lifted  liim  up.  And  they  saw  the  book  by  him;  and  the 
king  said,  'Let  one  hide  this  book  that  is  with  him.'  And  the 
officers  of  the  king,  the  priests  of  Ptah,  and  the  high  priest  of 
Ptah,  said  to  the  king:  'Our  Lord,  may  the  king  live  as  long 
as  the  sun!  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  was  a  good  scribe,  and  a  very 
skillful  man.'  And  the  king  had  him  laid  in  his  Good  House 
to  the  sixteenth  day,  and  then  had  him  wrapped  to  the  thirty- 
fifth  day,  and  laid  him  out  to  the  seventieth  day,  and  then  had 
him  put  in  his  grave  in  his  resting  place. 

"  I  have  now  told  you  the  sorrow  which  has  come  upon  us 
because  of  this  book  for  which  you  ask,  saying, '  Let  it  be  given 
to  me.'  You  have  no  claim  to  it;  and,  indeed,  for  the  sake  of 
it,  we  have  given  up  our  life  on  earth." 

And  Setna  said  to  Ahura,  "  Give  me  the  book  which  1  see 
between  you  and  Na-nefer-ka-ptah;  for  if  you  do  not,  I  will 
take  it  by  force."  Then  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  rose  from  his  seat 
and  said,  "  Are  you  Setna,  to  whom  my  wife  has  told  of  all 
these  blows  of  fate,  which  you  have  not  suffered  ?  Can  you 
take  this  book  by  your  skill  as  a  good  scribe  ?  If,  indeed,  you 
can  play  games  with  me,  let  us  play  a  game,  then,  of  fifty-two 
points."  And  Setna  said,  "I  am  ready,"  and  the  board  and 
its  pieces  were  put  before  him.  And  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  won  a 
game  from  Setna;  and  he  put  the  spell  upon  him,  and  defended 
himself  with  the  game  board  that  was  before  him,  and  sunk 
him  into  the  ground  above  his  feet.  He  did  the  same  at  the 
second  game,  and  won  it  from  Setna,  and  sunk  him  into  the 
ground  to  his  waist.  He  did  the  same  at  the  third  game,  and 
made  him  sink  into  the  ground  up  to  his  ears.  Then  Setna 
struck  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  a  great  blow  with  his  hand.  And 
Setna  called  his  brother  An-he-hor-eru  and  said  to  him,  "  Make 
haste  and  go  up  upon  earth,  and  tell  the  king  all  that  has 
happened  to  me,  and  bring  me  the  talisman  of  my  father  Ptah 
and  my  magic  books." 

And  he  hurried  up  upon  the  earth,  and  told  the  king  all 
that  had  happened  to  Setna.  The  king  said,  "  Bring  him  the 
talisman  of  his  father  Ptah,  and  his  magic  books."  And  An- 
he-hor-eru  hurried  down  into  the  tomb;  he  laid  the  talisman 
on  Setna,  and  he  sprang  up  again  immediately.     And  then 


166  SETNA   AND   THE   MAGIC    BOOK. 

Setna  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  book,  and  took  it.  Then 
—  as  Setna  went  out  from  the  tomb  —  there  went  a  Light 
before  him,  and  Darkness  behind  him.  And  Ahura  wept  at 
him,  and  she  said:  "Glory  to  the  King  of  Darkness!  Hail  to 
the  King  of  Light!  all  power  is  gone  from  the  tomb."  But 
Na-nefer-ka-ptah  said  to  Ahura,  "  Do  not  let  your  heart  be 
sad;  I  will  make  him  bring  back  this  book,  with  a  forked  stick 
in  his  hand,  and  a  fire  pan  on  his  head."  And  Setna  went  out 
from  the  tomb,  and  it  closed  behind  him  as  it  was  before. 

Then  Setna  went  to  the  king,  and  told  him  everything  that 
had  happened  to  him  with  the  book.  And  the  king  said  to 
Setna,  "  Take  back  the  book  to  the  grave  of  Na-nefer-ka-ptah, 
like  a  prudent  man,  or  else  he  will  make  you  bring  it  with  a 
forked  stick  in  your  hand,  and  a  lire  pan  on  your  head."  But 
Setna  would  not  listen  to  him;  and  when  Setna  had  unrolled 
the  book  he  did  nothing  on  earth  but  read  it  to  everybody. 

[Here  follows  a  story  of  how  Setna,  walking  in  the  court  of 
the  temple  of  Ptah,  met  Tabubua,  a  fascinating  girl,  daughter 
of  a  priest  of  Bast,  of  Ankhtaui ;  how  she  repelled  his  advances, 
until  she  had  beguiled  him  into  giving  up  all  his  possessions, 
and  slaying  his  children.  At  the  last  she  gives  a  fearful  cry 
and  vanishes,  leaving  Setna  bereft  of  even  his  clothes.  This 
would  seem  to  be  merely  a  dream,  by  the  disappearance  of 
Tabubua,  and  by  Setna  finding  his  children  alive  after  it  all; 
but  on  the  other  hand  he  comes  to  his  senses  in  an  unknown 
place,  and  is  so  terrified  as  to  be  quite  ready  to  make  restitu- 
tion to  Na-nefer-ka-ptah.  The  episode,  which  is  not  creditable 
to  Egyptian  society,  seems  to  be  intended  for  one  of  the  vivid 
dreams  which  the  credulous  readily  accept  as  half  realities.] 

So  Setna  went  to  Memphis,  and  embraced  his  children  for 
that  they  were  alive.  And  the  king  said  to  him,  "  Were  you 
not  drunk  to  do  so  ?  "  Then  Setna  told  all  things  that  had 
happened  with  Tabubua  and  Na-nefer-ka-ptah.  And  the  king 
said,  "  Setna,  I  have  already  lifted  up  my  hand  against  you 
before,  and  said,  'He  will  kill  you  if  you  do  not  take  back 
the  book  to  the  place  you  took  it  from.'  But  you  have  never 
listened  to  me  till  this  hour.  Now,  then,  take  the  book  to 
Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  with  a  forked  stick  in  your  hand,  and  a  fire 
pan  on  your  head." 

So  Setna  went  out  from  before  the  king,  with  a  forked  stick 
in  his  hand,  and  a  fire  pan  on  his  head.  He  went  down  to  the 
tomb  in  which  was  Na-nefer-ka-ptah.     And  Ahura  said  to  him. 


SETNA   AND   THE   MAGIC   BOOK.  157 

"  It  is  Ptah,  the  great  god,  that  has  brought  you  back  safe." 
Na-nefer-ka-ptah  laughed,  and  he  said,  "This  is  the  business 
that  I  told  you  before."  And  when  Setna  had  praised  Na- 
nefer-ka-ptah,  he  found  it  as  the  proverb  says,  "  The  sun  was 
in  the  whole  tomb."  And  Ahura  and  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  besought 
Setna  greatly.  And  Setna  said,  "  Na-nefer-ka-ptah,  is  it  aught 
disgraceful  (that  you  lay  on  me  to  do)  ?  "  And  Na-nefer-ka- 
ptah  said,  "  Setna,  you  know  this,  that  Ahura  and  Mer-ab,  her 
child,  behold  !  they  are  in  Koptos ;  bring  them  here  into  this 
tomb,  by  the  skill  of  a  good  scribe.  Let  it  be  impressed  upon 
you  to  take  pains,  and  to  go  to  Koptos  to  bring  them  here." 
Setna  then  went  out  from  the  tomb  to  the  king,  and  told  the 
king  all  that  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  had  told  him. 

The  king  said,  "  Setna,  go  to  Koptos  and  bring  back  Ahura 
and  Mer-ab."  He  answered  the  king,  "Let  one  give  me  the 
royal  boat  and  its  belongings."  And  they  gave  him  the  royal 
boat  and  its  belongings,  and  he  left  the  haven,  and  sailed  with- 
out stopping  till  he  came  to  Koptos. 

And  they  made  this  known  to  the  priests  of  Isis  at  Koptos 
and  to  the  high  priest  of  Isis ;  and  behold  they  came  down  to 
him,  and  gave  him  their  hand  to  the  shore.  He  went  up  with 
them  and  entered  into  the  temple  of  Isis  of  Koptos  and  of 
Harpokrates.  He  ordered  one  to  offer  for  him  an  ox,  a  goose, 
and  some  wine,  and  he  made  a  burnt  offering  and  a  drink  offer- 
ing before  Isis  of  Koptos  and  Harpokrates.  He  went  to  the 
cemetery  of  Koptos  with  the  priests  of  Isis  and  the  high  priest 
of  Isis.  They  dug  about  for  three  days  and  three  nights,  for 
they  searched  even  in  all  the  catacombs  which  were  in  the 
cemetery  of  Koptos ;  they  turned  over  the  steles  of  the  scribes 
of  the  "double  house  of  life,"  and  read  the  inscriptions  that 
they  found  on  them.  But  they  could  not  find  the  resting  place 
of  Ahura  and  Mer-ab. 

Now  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  perceived  that  they  could  not  find 
the  resting  place  of  Ahura  and  her  child  Mer-ab.  So  he  raised 
himself  up  as  a  venerable,  very  old  ancient,  and  came  before 
Setna.  And  Setna  saw  him,  and  Setna  said  to  the  ancient, 
"  You  look  like  a  very  old  man,  do  you  know  where  is  the  rest- 
ing place  of  Ahura  and  her  child  INIer-ab  ?  "  The  ancient  said 
to  Setna,  ' '  It  was  told  by  the  father  of  the  father  of  my  fatlier 
to  the  fa  her  of  my  father,  and  the  father  of  my  father  has  told 
it  to  my  father ;  the  resting  place  of  Ahura  and  of  her  child 
Mer-ab  is  in  a  mound  south  of  the  town  of  Pe'hemato."  And 
Setna  said  to  the  ancient,  "  Perhaps  we  may  do  damage  to 


158  MYCERINUS. 

Pehemeto,  and  you  are  ready  to  lead  one  to  the  town  for  the 
sake  of  that."  The  ancient  replied  to  Setna  :  "  If  one  listens  to 
me,  shall  he  therefore  destroy  the  town  of  Pehemato  1  If  they 
do  not  find  Ahura  and  her  child  Mer-ab  under  the  south  cor- 
ner of  their  town,  may  I  be  disgraced."  They  attended  to  the 
ancient,  and  found  the  resting  place  of  Ahura  and  her  child 
Mer-ab  under  the  soubn  corner  of  the  town  of  Pehemato.  Setna 
laid  them  in  the  rojil  boat  to  bring  them  as  honored  persons, 
and  restored  the  town  of  Pehemato  as  it  originally  was.  And 
Na-nefer-ka-ptah  made  Setna  to  know  that  it  was  he  who  had 
come  to  Koptos,  to  enable  them  to  find  out  where  the  resting 
place  was  of  Ahura  and  her  child  Mer-ab. 

So  Setna  left  the  haven  in  the  royal  boat,  and  sailed  without 
stopping,  and  reached  Memphis  with  all  the  soldiers  who  were 
with  him.  And  when  they  told  the  king,  he  came  down  to  the 
royal  boat.  He  took  them  as  honored  persons,  escorted  to  the 
catacombs,  in  which  Na-nefer-ka-ptah  was,  and  smoothed  down 
the  ground  over  them. 

This  is  the  completed  writing  of  the  tale  of  Setna  Kha-em-uast- 
and  Na-nefer-ka-ptahy  and  his  wife  Ahura,  and  their  child  Mer-ab. 
It  was  written  in  the  Z5th  year^  the  month  Tyhi. 


-^>K<i 


MYCERINUS. 

By  MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 
[Matthew  Arnold:  English  poet,  essayist,  and  critic;  bom  at  Laleham, 
December  24,  1822 ;  died  at  Liverpool,  April  16,  1888.  He  was  professor  of 
poetry  at  Oxford,  1857-1867.  He  was  government  inspector  of  schools  for 
nearly  forty  years.  His  earliest  published  works  were  his  prize  poems,  "Alaric 
at  Rome,"  written  at  Rugby,  and  "Cromwell,"  written  at  Oxford.  His  poeti- 
cal works  include  "The  Strayed  Reveler,  and  Other  Poems"  (1848);  "  Emped- 
ocles  on  Etna"  (1853);  "  Merope,"  a  tragedy  (1857);  "New  Poems"  (1868). 
His  prose  essays  include  "Lectures  on  Celtic  Literature,"  and  "Lectures  on 
Translating  Homer,"  "Culture  and  Anarchy,"  "Literature  and  Dogma,"  and 
"Discourses  on  America."] 

"After  Chephren,  Mycerinus,  son  of  Cheops,  reigned  over  Egypt.  He  abhorred 
his  father's  courses,  and  judged  his  subjects  more  justly  than  any  of  their  kings  had 
done.  To  him  there  came  an  oracle  from  the  city  of  Buto  to  the  effect  that  he  was 
to  live  but  six  years  longer,  and  to  die  in  the  seventh  year  from  that  time."^ 
Herodotus. 

"  Not  by  the  justice  that  my  father  spurned, 

Not  for  the  thousands  whom  my  father  slew, 

Altars  unfed  and  temples  overturned, 

Cold  hearts  and  thankless  tongues,  where  thanks  are  due ; 

Fell  this  dread  voice  from  lips  that  cannot  lie, 

Stern  sentence  of  the  Powers  of  Destiny. 


MYCERINUS.  159 

"  I  will  unfold  my  sentence  and  my  crime. 
My  crime,  —  that,  rapt  in  reverential  awe, 
I  sate  obedient,  in  the  fiery  prime 
Of  youth,  self-governed,  at  the  feet  of  Law ; 
Ennobling  this  dull  pomp,  the  life  of  kings, 
By  contemplation  of  diviner  things. 

"  My  father  loved  injustice,  and  lived  long ; 
Crowned  with  gray  hairs  he  died,  and  full  of  sway. 
I  loved  the  good  he  scorned,  and  hated  wrong  — 
The  gods  declare  my  recompense  to-day. 
I  looked  for  life  more  lasting,  rule  more  high ; 
And  when  six  years  are  measured,  lo,  I  die ! 

"  Yet  surely,  0  my  people,  did  I  deem 
Man's  justice  from  the  all-just  gods  was  given ; 
A  light  that  from  some  upper  fount  did  beam. 
Some  better  archetype,  whose  seat  was  heaven ; 
A  light  that,  shining  from  the  blest  abodes. 
Did  shadow  somewhat  of  the  life  of  gods. 

"  Mere  phantoms  of  man's  self-tormenting  heart, 
"Which  on  the  sweets  that  woo  it  dares  not  feed ! 
Vain  dreams,  which  quench  our  pleasures,  then  depart, 
When  the  duped  soul,  self-mastered,  claims  its  meed : 
When,  on  the  strenuous  just  man.  Heaven  bestows, 
Crown  of  his  struggling  life,  an  unjust  close ! 

"  Seems  it  so  light  a  thing,  then,  austere  powers. 
To  spurn  man's  common  lure,  life's  pleasant  things  ? 
Seems  there  no  joy  in  dances  crowned  with  flowers, 
Love  free  to  range,  and  regal  banqiie tings  ? 
Bend  ye  on  these  indeed  an  unmoved  eye, 
Not  gods,  but  ghosts,  in  frozen  apathy  ? 

"  Or  is  it  that  some  force,  too  stern,  too  strong, 
Even  for  yourselves  to  conquer  or  beguile, 
Bears  earth  and  heaven  and  men  and  gods  along, 
Like  the  broad  volume  of  the  insurgent  Nile  ? 
And  the  great  powers  we  serve,  themselves  may  be 
Slaves  of  a  tyrannous  necessity  ? 

"  Or  in  mid-heaven,  perhaps,  your  golden  cars, 
Where  earthly  voice  climbs  never,  wing  their  flight, 
And  in  wild  hunt,  through  mazy  tracts  of  stars. 
Sweep  in  the  sounding  stillness  of  the  night  ? 
Or  in  deaf  ease,  on  thrones  of  dazzling  sheen. 
Drinking  deep  draughts  of  joy,  ye  dwell  serene  ? 


160  MYCERINUS. 

"  Oh,  wherefore  cheat  our  youth,  if  thus  it  be, 
Of  one  short  joy,  one  lust,  one  pleasant  dream  ? 
Stringing  vain  words  of  powers  we  cannot  see, 
Blind  divinations  of  a  will  supreme ; 
Lost  labor  !  when  the  circumambient  gloom 
But  hides,  if  gods,  gods  careless  of  our  doom  ? 

"  The  rest  I  give  to  joy.     Even  while  I  speak, 
My  sand  runs  short;  and  as  yon  star-shot  ray. 
Hemmed  by  two  banks  of  cloud,  peers  pale  and  weak, 
Now,  as  the  barrier  closes,  dies  away,  — 
Even  so  do  past  and  future  intertwine. 
Blotting  this  six  years'  space,  which  yet  is  mine. 

"  Six  years,  —  six  little  years,  —  six  drops  of  time ! 
Yet  suns  shall  rise,  and  many  moons  shall  wane, 
And  old  men  die,  and  young  men  pass  their  prime, 
And  languid  pleasure  fade  and  flower  again, 
And  the  dull  gods  behold,  ere  these  are  flown, 
Revels  more  deep,  joy  keener  than  their  own. 

"Into  the  silence  of  the  groves  and  woods 
I  will  go  forth ;  though  something  would  I  say,  — 
Something,  —  yet  what,  I  know  not :  for  the  gods 
The  doom  they  pass  revoke  not  nor  delay ; 
And  prayers  and  gifts  and  tears  are  fruitless  all. 
And  the  night  waxes,  and  the  shadows  fall. 

"  Ye  men  of  Egypt,  ye  have  heard  your  king ! 

I  go,  and  I  return  not.     But  the  will 

Of  the  great  gods  is  plain ;  and  ye  must  bring 

111  deeds,  ill  passions,  zealous  to  fulfill 

Their  pleasure,  to  their  feet ;  and  reap  their  praise,  — 

The  praise  of  gods,  rich  boon !  and  length  of  days." 

—  So  spake  he,  half  in  anger,  half  in  scorn ; 
And  one  loud  cry  of  grief  and  of  amaze 
Broke  from  his  sorrowing  people ;  so  he  spake, 
And  turning,  left  them  there :  and  with  brief  pause. 
Girt  with  a  throng  of  revelers,  bent  his  way 
To  the  cool  region  of  the  groves  he  loved.  .  .  . 

So  six  long  years  he  reveled,  night  and  day. 
And  when  the  mirth  waxed  loudest,  with  dull  sound 
Sometimes  from  the  grove's  center  echoes  came, 
To  tell  his  wondering  people  of  their  king ; 
In  the  still  night,  across  the  steaming  flats. 
Mixed  with  the  murmur  of  the  moving  Nile. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  MOSES.  1^^ 

THE  BURIAL   OF  MOSES. 

By  MRS.  C.   F.  ALEXANDEB. 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave, 
And  no  man  knows  that  sepulcher, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er ; 
For  the  angels  of  God  uptiirned  the  sod, 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling, 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth  — 
Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  back  when  night  is  done. 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the  great  sun. 

Noiselessly  as  the  springtime 

Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves, 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills 

Open  their  thousand  leaves ; 
So  without  sound  of  music. 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept. 
Silently  down  from  the  mountain's  crown, 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle, 

On  gray  Beth-Peor's  height, 
Out  of  his  lonely  eyrie, 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight ; 
Perchance  the  lion  stalking 

Still  shuns  that  hallowed  spot, 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth. 

His  comrades  in  the  war, 
With  arms  reversed  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  his  funeral  car ; 
They  show  the  banners  taken. 

They  tell  hia  battles  won, 


162  THE  BURIAL  OF  MOSES. 

And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed. 
While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

We  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honored  place, 

With  costly  marble  drest, 
In  the  great  minster  transept 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 
And  the  organ  rings,  and  the  sweet  choii  sings 

Along  the  emblazoned  wall. 

This  was  the  truest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword, 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word ; 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  his  golden  pen, 
On  the  deathless  page,  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 

And  had  he  not  high  honor,  — 

The  hillside  for  a  pall. 
To  lie  in  state  while  angels  wait 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall, 
And  the  dark  rock  pines,  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave. 
And  God's  own  hand  in  that  lonely  land. 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave  ? 

In  that  strange  grave  without  a  name. 

Whence  his  uncoffined  clay 
Shall  break  again,  0  wondrous  thought! 

Before  the  Judgment  day, 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapt  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod. 
And  speak  of  the  strife  that  won  our  life, 

With  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God. 

0  lonely  grave  in  Moab's  land  I 

0  dark  Beth-Peor's  hill ! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  His  mysteries  of  grace. 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell ; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  hidden  sleep 

Of  him  He  lorcd  so  welL 


STORY  OF  THE  TWO  BROTHERS.  168 

STORY   OF   THE   TWO   BROTHERS. 

Translated  from  the  Egyptian,  by  P.  LE  PAGE  RENOUF 
(From  "Records  of  the  Past.") 

There  were  two  brothers  (children),  of  one  mother  and 
of  one  father.  Anpu  was  the  name  of  the  elder,  Bata  that 
of  the  younger. 

Anpu  had  a  house  and  a  wife,  and  his  younger  brother 
was  like  a  son  to  him.  He  it  was  who  .  .  .  clothes  for  him. 
He  followed  after  his  cattle  ...  he  who  did  the  plowing 
.  .  .  did  all  the  labors  of  the  fields. 

Behold,  his  younger  brother  was  so  good  a  laborer  that 
there  was  not  his  equal  in  the  whole  land.  .  .  .  But  when 
the  days  had  multiplied  after  this  the  younger  brother  was 
with  his  cattle  according  to  his  daily  wont,  he  took  them  to 
his  house  every  evening ;  he  was  laden  with  all  the  herbs  of 
the  field.  .   .   . 

(The  elder  brother)  sat  with  his  wife  and  ate  and  drank 
(whilst  the  younger  was  in)  the  stable  with  his  cattle.  But 
when  the  day  dawned  ...  he  rose  before  his  elder  brother, 
took  bread  to  the  field  and  called  the  (laborers)  to  eat  in  the 
field. 

He  followed  after  his  cattle  and  they  told  him  where  the 
best  grasses  were.  He  understood  all  that  they  said  and  he 
took  them  to  the  place  where  the  best  herbage  was  which 
they  wanted. 

And  the  cattle  which  was  before  him  became  exceedingly 
beautiful,  and  they  multiplied  exceedingly.  And  when  the 
time  for  plowing  came,  his  elder  brother  said  to  him,  "  Let 
us  take  our  teams  for  plowing,  because  the  land  has  made 
its  appearance.  The  time  is  excellent  for  plowing  it.  So 
do  thou  come  with  seed,  for  we  shall  accomplish  the  plow- 
ing." ...     So  said  he. 

And  the  younger  brother  proceeded  to  do  whatever  his 
elder  told  him.  .  .  .  But  when  the  day  dawned  they  went 
to  the  field  with  their  .  .  .  and  worked  at  their  tillage  and 
they  enjoyed  themselves  exceedingly  at  their  work. 

But  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this  they  were  in 
the  field  .  .  .  (the  elder  brother)  sent  his  junior,  saying,  "  Go 
and  fetch  seed  for  us  from  the  viUage*." 


164  STORY  OF  THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 

And  the  younger  brother  found  the  wife  of  the  elder  sit- 
ting at  her  toilet.  And  he  said  to  her,  "  Arise  and  give  me 
seed  that  I  may  go  back  to  the  field,  because  my  elder  brother 
wishes  me  to  return  without  delay." 

And  she  said  to  him,  "  Go,  open  the  bin,  and  take  thyself 
whatever  thou  wilt ;  my  hair  would  fall  by  the  way." 

The  youth  entered  his  stable ;  he  took  a  large  vessel,  for 
he  wished  to  take  a  great  deal  of  seed,  and  he  loaded  himself 
with  grain  and  went  out  with  it. 

And  she  said  to  him,  "How  much  have  you  on  .  .  ." 
And  he  said  to  her,  "Two  measures  of  barley  and  three  of 
wheat;  in  all  five,  which  are  on  my  arm." 

And  she  spoke  to  him,  saying,  "  What  strength  there  is 
in  thee!  indeed,  I  observe  thy  vigor  every  day."  Her  heart 
knew  him.  .  .  .  She  seized  upon  him  and  said  to  him : 
"  Come,  let  us  lie  down  for  an  instant.  Better  for  thee  .  .  . 
beautiful  clothes." 

The  youth  became  like  a  panther  with  fury  on  account  of 
the  shameful  discourse  which  she  had  addressed  to  liim.  And 
she  was  alarmed  exceedingly. 

He  spoke  to  her,  saying :  "  Verily,  I  have  looked  upon  thee 
in  the  light  of  a  mother  and  thy  husband  in  that  of  a  father 
to  me.  (-For  he  is  older  than  I,  as  much  as  if  he  had  begotten 
me.)  What  a  great  abomination  is  this  which  thou  hast  men- 
tioned to  me.  Do  not  repeat  it  again  to  me,  and  I  will  not 
speak  of  it  to  any  one.  Verily,  I  will  not  let  anything  of  it 
come  forth  from  my  mouth  to  any  man." 

He  took  up  his  load  and  went  forth  to  the  field.  He  came 
to  his  elder  brother,  and  they  accomplished  the  task  of  their 
labor. 

But  when  the  time  of  evening  had  come,  the  elder 
brother  returned  to  his  house.  His  younger  brother  behind 
his  cattle  .  .  .  loaded  with  all  things  of  the  field.  He  led 
his  cattle  before  him  to  lie  down  in  their  stable.   .   .   . 

Behold,  the  wife  of  his  elder  brother  was  alarmed  at  the 
discourse  which  she  had  held.  She  .  .  .  She  made  herself 
like  one  who  has  suffered  violence  from  a  man,  for  she  wished 
to  say  to  her  husband,  "  It  is  thy  younger  brother  who  has 
done  me  violence." 

Her  husband  returned  home  at  evening  according  to  his 
daily  wont.  He  came  to  his  house,  and  he  found  his  wife 
lying  as  if  murdered  by  a  ruffian. 


STORY  OF  THE  TWO  BROTHERS.  165 

She  did  not  pour  water  upon  his  hand  according  to  her 
wont,  she  did  not  light  the  himp  before  him,  his  house  was 
in  darkness.     She  was  lying  uncovered. 

Her  husband  said  to  her,  "  Who  has  been  conversing  with 
thee  ?  " 

She  said,  "No  one  has  conversed  with  me  except  thy 
younger  brother ;  when  he  came  to  fetch  seed  for  thee,  he 
found  me  sitting  alone,  and  he  said  to  me,  '  Come,  and  let  us 
lie  down  for  an  instant  .  .   .'  ;  that  is  what  he  said  to  me. 

"But  I  did  not  listen  to  him.  'Behold,  am  I  not  thy 
mother,  and  thy  elder  brother  is  he  not  like  a  father  to  thee  ?  ' 
that  is  what  I  said  to  him,  and  he  got  alarmed  and  did 
me  violence  that  I  might  not  make  a  report  to  thee;  but  if 
thou  lettest  him  live,  I  shall  kill  myself.  Behold  he  was 
come  .  .  ." 

And  the  elder  brother  became  like  a  panther  ...  he 
made  his  dagger  sharp,  and  took  it  in  his  hand.  And  the 
elder  brother  put  himself  behind  the  door  of  his  stable  to 
kill  his  younger  brother  on  his  return  at  evening  to  bring 
his  cattle  to  the  stable. 

But  when  the  sun  set,  he  loaded  himself  with  all  the  herbs 
of  the  field,  according  to  his  daily  wont.  And  he  came,  and 
the  first  cow  entered  into  the  stable,  and  it  said  to  its  keeper : 
"  Verily,  thy  elder  brother  is  standing  before  thee  with  his 
dagger  to  slay  thee.     Betake  thyself  from  before  him." 

He  heard  the  speech  of  the  first  ox ;  the  next  one  entered 
and  it  spoke  in  the  same  way.  He  looked  under  the  door  of 
the  stable,  and  he  saw  the  two  feet  of  his  elder  brother,  who 
was  standing  behind  the  door  with  a  dagger  in  his  hand. 

He  laid  down  his  load  upon  the  ground  and  betook  himself 
to  flight,  his  elder  brother  following  him  with  his  dagger. 

The  younger  brother  invoked  the  Sun  god  Horus  of  the 
two  horizons,  saying,  "  My  good  Lord,  it  is  thou  who  distin- 
guishest  wrong  from  right !  " 

The  Sun  god  stopped  to  listen  to  all  his  wailings.  And 
the  Sun  god  made  a  large  stream,  which  was  full  of  croco- 
diles, between  him  and  his  elder;  one  of  them  was  on  one 
bank  and  one  upon  the  other. 

And  the  elder  brother  struck  his  hand  twice  (with  rage) 
at  not  killing  him  :  he  did. 

And  the  younger  brother  called  to  him  from  the  bank, 
saying :  — 


166  STORY   OF   THE   TWO   BROTHERS. 

"Stop  till  daybreak,  and  when  the  sun's  disk  comes 
forth,  I  shall  have  an  explanation  with  thee  in  its  presence 
to  give  the  ...  of  the  truth,  for  I  have  never  done  wrong 
to  thee,  but  I  will  never  live  in  the  places  wherein  thou  art. 
I  am  going  to  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar." 

But  when  the  day  dawned,  the  Sun  god,  Horus  of  both 
horizons,  came  forth,  and  each  of  them  saw  the  other. 

The  young  man  spoke  to  his  elder  brother,  saying  :  "  What 
is  this,  thy  coming  to  kill  me  wrongfully  ?  Hearest  thou  not 
what  my  mouth  speaketh  ?  Verily,  I  am  thy  younger  brother, 
in  very  deed,  and  thou  wert  to  me  as  a  father,  and  thy  wife  as 
a  mother. 

"Behold,  is  it  not  because  thou  didst  send  me  to  fetch 
seed  for  us  thy  wife  said  to  me,  '  Come,  let  us  lie  down  for 
an  instant ; '  but  see,  she  has  turned  it  to  thee  the  wrong  way." 

And  he  made  him  understand  what  had  happened  with 
reference  to  himself  with  his  wife.  He  swore  by  the  Sun 
god,  Horus  of  both  horizons,  saying,  "  Thy  intent  is  to  slay 
me  wrongfully,  thou  art  with  thy  dagger,  ..."  and  he  took 
a  sharp  knife,  cut  off  his  phallus  and  threw  it  into  the  water, 
and  the  fish  swallowed  it. 

But  he  became  faint  and  swooned  away.  And  his  elder 
brother  felt  compassion  exceedingly.  And  he  stood  weeping 
and  crying,  not  being  able  to  pass  over  to  the  place  where 
his  younger  brother  was,  on  account  of  the  crocodiles. 

But  the  younger  brother  called  to  him,  saying :  "  Behold, 
thou  didst  imagine  a  crime  ;  thou  didst  not  imagine  that  it 
was  a  virtuous  action  or  a  thing  which  I  had  done  for  thee. 

"Now  return  to  thy  house,  and  do  thou  look  after  thy 
cattle  thyself ;  for  I  will  no  longer  remain  in  a  place  where 
thou  art.     I  go  to  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar. 

"  But  as  to  what  thou  shalt  do  for  me,  and  thy  coming  to 
look  after  me,  thou  shalt  learn,  namely,  things  will  happen 
to  me. 

"  I  shall  take  my  heart  and  place  it  in  the  top  of  the  flower 
of  the  Cedar,  and  when  the  Cedar  is  cut  down,  it  will  fall  to 
the  ground. 

"Thou  shalt  come  to  seek  it.  If  thou  art  seven  years  in 
the  search  of  it,  let  not  thy  heart  be  depressed  ;  and  when 
thou  hast  found  it,  thou  shalt  place  it  in  a  cup  of  cold  water ; 
oh,  then  I  shall  live  (once  more)  and  fling  back  a  reply  to  an 
attack. 


STORT  OF   THE  TWO  BROTHERS.  167 

"  And  this  thou  shalt  learn,  namely,  that  the  things  have 
happened  to  me.  When  thou  shalt  take  a  jug  of  beer  into 
thy  hand  and  it  turns  into  froth,  then  delay  not ;  for  tc  thee 
of  a  certainty  is  the  issue  coming  to  pass." 

Then  he  departed  to  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar,  and  the 
elder  brother  returned  to  his  house.  He  put  his  hand  upon 
his  head  and  smeared  it  with  dust ;  and  when  he  came  to 
his  house  he  slew  his  wife  and  flung  her  to  the  dogs.  But 
he  continued  mourning  for  his  younger  brother. 

But  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  the  younger 
brother  was  at  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar.  There  was  no  one 
with  him,  and  his  time  was  spent  in  hunting  the  animals  of  the 
country.  He  returned  at  evening  to  lie  down  under  the  Cedar, 
on  the  top  of  whose  flowers  his  heart  lay. 

But  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  he  built  with 
his  hands  a  dwelling  on  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar,  which  was 
filled  with  all  the  good  things  which  the  possessor  of  a  house 
desires. 

And  having  gone  out  of  his  dwelling,  he  met  the  company 
of  the  gods,  who  were  going  forth  to  do  their  will  in  their  land 
of  Egypt. 

The  divine  company  spoke  by  one  of  them,  who  said  to 
him:  — 

"  Ho !  Bata,  Bull  of  the  divine  company !  dost  thou 
remain  alone,  and  abandonest  thou  thy  country  on  account  of 
the  wife  of  Anpu,  thy  elder  brother  ?  Behold,  his  wife  is  slain, 
because  thou  hast  flung  back  replies  to  all  the  attacks  made 
upon  thee." 

Their  hearts  pitied  him  exceedingly.  And  the  Sun  god, 
Horus  of  both  horizons,  said  to  Chnum,  "  Oh,  make  a  wife 
for  Bata,  that  he  may  not  remain  alone." 

And  Chnum  made  him  a  companion,  who  as  she  sat  was 
more  beautiful  in  her  limbs  than  any  woman  in  the  whole 
earth  ;  the  whole  godhead  was  in  her. 

The  seven  Hathors  came  to  see  her,  and  they  said  with  one 
mouth  that  she  would  die  a  violent  death.  And  he  loved  her 
exceedingly,  and  she  remained  in  his  house  whilst  he  spent 
his  time  in  hunting  the  animals  of  the  country  and  bringing 
the  game  to  her. 

And  he  said  to  her,  "  Do  not  go  out,  lest  the  Sea  carry 
thee  off,  and  I  may  not  know  how  to  rescue  thee  from  him, 
because  I  am  a  woman  even  as  thou  art;  for  my  heart  is  on 


168  STORY  OF   THE   TWO   BROTHERS. 

the  top  of  the  flower  of  the  Cedar,  and  if  any  one  finds  it,  I 
shall  be  overcome  by  him."  And  he  revealed  to  her  his  heart 
in  all  its  height. 

And  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  Bata  went 
out  to  hunt  the  animals  after  his  daily  wont,  and  the  young 
woman  went  out  to  take  a  turn  under  the  Cedar,  which  was 
near  her  house. 

And  the  Sea  beheld  her  and  dashed  its  waters  in  pursuit 
of  her,  and  she  betook  herself  to  flight  before  it  and  entered 
into  her  house. 

And  the  Sea  cried  to  the  Cedar,  saying,  "  O  that  I  could 
seize  upon  her !  "  And  the  Cedar  carried  off  one  of  her  fra- 
grant locks,  and  the  Sea  carried  it  to  Egypt,  and  deposited  it 
in  the  place  where  the  washers  of  the  King  were. 

And  the  odor  of  the  lock  grew  into  the  clothes  of  the 
King.  And  a  quarrel  arose  among  the  royal  washers  on 
account  of  the  overpowering  odor  in  the  clothes  of  the  King. 
The  quarrel  continued  among  thera  day  after  day,  so  that  they 
no  longer  knew  what  they  were  doing. 

And  the  Chief  of  the  washers  of  the  King  went  out  to  the 
waterside,  and  his  heart  was  exceedingly  oppressed  on  account 
of  the  quarrels  in  which  he  was  every  day  involved. 

And  he  stopped  and  stayed  at  the  spot  in  the  midst  of 
which  lay  the  fragrant  lock  in  the  water.  And  he  stooped 
down  and  picked  it  up,  and  he  found  the  odor  of  it  delicious, 
exceedingly,  and  he  took  it  to  the  King. 

And  it  was  carried  to  the  doctors,  the  magicians  of  the 
King.  They  said  to  the  King,  "The  lock  belongs  to  a 
daughter  of  the  Sun  god,  Horns  of  both  horizons  ;  the  essence 
of  the  whole  godhead  is  in  her. 

"  But  the  whole  earth  is  in  obeisance  before  thee  ;  send, 
therefore,  envoys  to  every  place  to  seek  her  ;  but  as  for  the 
envoy  who  is  for  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar,  send  out  with 
him  troops  in  great  numbers  to  bring  her." 

His  Majesty  replied,  "  Good  exceedingly  is  that  which  ye 
have  said  to  us  !  "     And  the  envoys  were  sent. 

But  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  the  troops 
that  went  to  every  place  returned  to  give  their  reports  to  His 
Majesty,  but  those  returned  not  who  had  gone  to  the  moun- 
tain of  the  Cedar;  Bata  had  slain  them. 

One  of  them  returned  to  tell  the  tale  to  His  Majesty.  And 
His  Majesty  once  more  sent  out  troops,  many  bowmen  and  also 


STORY  OF  THE  TWO  BROTHERS.  169 

cavalry  to  fetch  her ;  and  there  was  a  woman  with  them,  into 
whose  hand  one  had  given  all  the  most  beautiful  trinkets  for 

a  woman.  ... 

And  the  woman  came  with  her  into  Egypt,  and  rejoicmg 
was  made  for  her  throughout  the  whole  land.  And  His  Maj- 
esty loved  her  exceedingly,  and  she  was  raised  to  the  dignity 

of  a  Princess. 

And  it  was  said  to  her  that  she  should  reveal  the  ways  ot 
her  husband ;  and  she  said  to  His  Majesty,  "  Cause  the  Cedar 
to  be  cut  down,  and  he  will  be  destroyed." 

And  troops  were  sent  out  with  their  swords  to  cut  down 
the  Cedar.  They  came  to  the  Cedar,  and  cut  down  the  flower 
upon  which  lay  the  heart  of  Bata.  He  fell  dead  in  an  instant. 
But  when  the  dawn  of  the  next  day  appeared,  the  Cedar 
was  cut  down  ;  and  Anpu,  the  elder  brother  of  Bata,  entered 
his  house.  He  sat  down  and  washed  his  hand  ;  and  there 
was  given  to  him  a  jug  of  beer,  but  this  turned  into  froth. 
Another  jug  was  then  given  him  of  wine,  but  this  at  once 
became  troubled. 

Thereupon  he  took  his  staff  and  his  sandals,  likewise  his 
clothes  and  his  instruments  of  labor ;  and  he  betook  himself 
to  a  journey  toward  the  mountain  of  the  Cedar. 

He  came  to  the  dwelling  of  his  younger  brother  and  found 
him  lying  dead  upon  the  floor.  He  wept  when  he  saw  his 
younger  brother  lying  in  the  state  of  death ;  and  he  went  out 
to  seek  for  his  brother's  heart  under  the  Cedar  where  he  used 

to  lie  in  the  evening.  -r,  i,         i. 

Three  years  he  sought  without  finding.  But  when  the 
fourth  year  was  come,  his  heart  longed  to  return  to  Egypt, 
and  he  said,  "I  will  go  to-morrow."     Such  was  his  intention. 

But  when  the  dawn  of  the  next  day  appeared,  he  con- 
tinued to  walk  under  the  Cedar,  occupied  with  his  search, 
and  he  returned  in  the  evening. 

He  looked  after  his  search  once  more,  and  found  a  pod. 
He  examined  under  it ;  and  behold,  there  was  the  heart  of  his 
younger  brother.  He  brought  a  vessel  of  cold  water,  dropped 
the  heart  into  it,  and  sat  down  according  to  his  daily  wont. 

But  when  the  night  was  come,  the  heart  absorbed  the 
water.  Bata  trembled  in  all  his  limbs  and  continued  looking 
at  his  elder  brother,  but  his  heart  was  faint. 

Then  Anpu  took  the  vessel  of  cold  water  which  his 
brother's  heart  was  in.     And  when  the  latter   had   drunk   it 


170  STORY  OF  THE  TWO   BROTHERS. 

up,  his  heart  rose  in  its  place,  and  he  became  as  he  had  been 
before.  Each  embraced  the  other,  and  each  one  of  them  held 
conversation  with  his  companion. 

And  Bata  said  to  his  elder  brother,  "  Behold,  I  am  about 
to  become  a  great  Bull  with  all  the  sacred  marks,  but  with  an 
unknown  history. 

"Do  thou  sit  upon  my  back,  and  when  the  Sun  god  rises 
we  shall  be  in  the  place  where  my  wife  is.  (Answer  whether 
thou  wilt  take  me  there  ?)  For  there  will  be  given  to  thee  all 
good  things,  yea,  thou  shalt  be  loaded  with  silver  and  gold  for 
bringing  me  to  the  King,  for  I  shall  become  a  great  marvel, 
and  there  will  be  rejoicing  for  me  in  the  whole  land.  Then 
do  thou  return  to  thy  village." 

But  when  the  dawn  of  the  next  day  appeared,  Bata  had 
assumed  the  form  which  he  had  mentioned  to  his  elder  brother. 
And  Anpu,  his  elder  brother,  sat  upon  his  back  at  dawn  of 
day. 

And  he  arrived  at  the  place  which  had  been  spoken  of, 
and  information  was  given  to  His  Majesty,  who  inspected  him, 
and  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and  celebrated  a  festival  above  all 
description,  a  mighty  marvel,  and  rejoicings  for  it  were  made 
throughout  the  whole  land. 

And  there  was  brought  silver  and  gold  for  the  elder  brother, 
who  stayed  in  his  village.  But  to  (the  Bull)  there  were  given 
many  attendants  and  many  offerings ;  and  the  King  loved  him 
exceedingly  above  all  men  in  the  whole  land. 

But  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  he  entered 
the  sanctuary,  and  stood  in  the  very  place  where  the  Princess 
was.  And  he  spoke  to  her,  saying,  "  Look  upon  me ;  I  am 
alive  indeed." 

And  she  said  to  him,  "  And  who  then  art  thou  ?  "  And  he 
said  to  her :  "  I  am  Bata.  Thou  gavest  information  for  the 
cutting  down  of  the  Cedar  to  the  King  as  to  where  I  was, 
that  I  might  no  longer  live.  But  look  upon  me,  for  I  am 
really  alive.     I  am  a  Bull." 

And  the  Princess  was  frightened  exceedingly  at  the  speech 
which  her  husband  addressed  to  her.  And  he  went  out  of  the 
sanctuary. 

But  when  the  King  sat  down  to  make  a  holiday  with  her, 
and  as  she  was  at  the  table  of  His  Majesty  and  he  was  exceed- 
ingly gracious  to  her,  she  said  to  him,  "  Come,  swear  to  me  by 
God  that  you  will  grant  whatever  I  ask." 


STORY  OF  THE  TWO  BROTHERS.  171 

And  he  granted  all  that  she  asked,  saying,  "  Let  me  eat 
the  liver  of  the  Bull,  for  you  have  no  need  of  him." 

So  spake  she  to  him,  and  it  grieved  him  exceedingly  that 
she  spake  it,  and  the  heart  of  His  Majesty  was  exceedingly 
troubled. 

But  when  the  dawn  of  the  next  day  appeared,  there  was 
celebrated  a  great  festival  with  offerings  to  the  Bull. 

But  one  of  the  Chief  Royal  Officers  of  His  Majesty  was 
made  to  go  and  slay  the  Bull.  And  as  they  were  killing  him 
and  he  was  in  the  hands  of  the  attendants,  he  shook  his  neck, 
and  two  drops  of  blood  fell  upon  the  two  doorposts  of  His 
Majesty  :  one  was  on  the  one  side  of  the  great  staircase  of 
His  Majesty,  the  other  upon  the  other  side  ;  and  they  grew 
up  into  two  mighty  Persea  trees,  each  of  which  stood  alone. 

And  they  went  and  told  His  Majesty,  saying :  "  Two 
mighty  Persea  trees  have  sprung  up  as  a  great  omen  of  good 
fortune  to  His  Majesty  during  the  night,  near  the  great  stair- 
case of  His  Majesty ;  and  there  is  rejoicing  for  them  through 
the  whole  land,  and  offerings  are  made  to  them." 

And  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this.  His  Majesty 
was  wearing  the  collar  of  lapis  lazuli  with  a  wreath  of  all  kinds 
of  flowers  upon  his  neck.  He  was  in  his  brazen  chariot,  and 
he  went  forth  from  the  royal  palace  to  see  the  Persea  trees. 

And  the  Princess  went  out  on  a  two-horsed  car  behind  the 
King.  And  His  Majesty  sat  under  one  of  the  Perseas,  and 
(the  Tree)  said  to  his  wife  :  "  Ho  !  thou  false  one  !  I  am 
Bata  ;  I  am  living  still  ;  I  have  transformed  myself.  Thou 
gavest  information  to  the  King  of  where  I  was  that  I  might 
be  slain.  I  then  became  a  Bull,  and  thou  didst  cause  me  to 
be  slain." 

And  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  the  Princess 
was  in  the  good  graces  of  His  Majesty,  and  he  showed  her 
favor.  And  she  said  to  him,  "  Come,  swear  to  me  by  God, 
saying,  'Whatever  the  Princess  shall  ask  me,  I  will  consent 
to  it.' " 

And  he  consented  to  all  that  she  said.  And  she  said, 
"Cause  the  two  Persea  trees  to  be  cut  down,  and  let  them 
be  made  into  beautiful  planks."  And  he  consented  to  all 
that  she  said. 

And  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  His  Majesty 
made  cunning  workmen  come  to  cut  down  the  two  Persea  trees 
of  the  King ;  and  there  stood  by  looking  on  the  royal  spouse. 


172  JOSEPH  AND  POTIPHAR'S  WIFE. 

the  Princess.  And  there  flew  a  splinter,  and  it  entered  into 
the  mouth  of  the  Princess  ;  and  she  perceived  that  she  had 
conceived  ...  all  that  she  desired. 

And  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  she  brought 
forth  a  male  child,  and  they  went  to  the  King  and  said  to  him, 
"There  is  born  to  thee  a  male  child." 

And  the  child  was  brought,  and  there  were  given  to  it  a 
nurse  and  waiting  woman  ;  and  rejoicings  were  made  through 
the  whole  land.  They  sat  down  to  make  a  holiday  (and  they 
gave  him  his  name),  and  His  Majesty  at  once  loved  him  exceed- 
ingly and  raised  him  to  the  dignity  of  Prince  of  -Ethiopia. 

13ut  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  His  Majesty 
made  him  hereditary  Prince  of  the  whole  land. 

And  when  the  days  had  multiplied  after  this,  and  he  had 
completed  many  years  as  hereditary  Prince  .  .  .  His  Majesty 
flew  up  to  heaven  ;  and  (the  Prince)  said,  "  Let  the  Princes 
and  Nobles  of  His  Majesty  be  summoned,  and  I  shall  inform 
them  of  all  the  events  which  have  happened  to  me.  .  .  ."  His 
wife  was  brought  to  him,  and  he  had  a  reckoning  with  her  in 
presence  of  them,  and  they  spoke  their  speech. 

And  his  elder  brother  was  brought  to  him,  and  he  made 
him  hereditary  Prince  of  the  whole  land.  And  he  reigned 
for  thirty  years  as  King  of  Egypt. 

And  when  he  had  completed  (those)  thirty  years  of  life,  his 
elder  brother  arose  in  his  place,  on  the  day  of  his  death. 


JOSEPH  AND   POTIPHAR'S   WIFE. 

By  CHARLES  J.  WELLS. 
[For  biographical  sketch,  see  Vol.  30,  page  342.] 

Enter  Joseph. 
Joseph  — 

Madam,  so  please  — 
Phraxanor —  I'll  hear  thee  by  and  by. 

Myrah,  depart ;  yet  stay,  and  first  arrange 

My  sandal,  that  unseemly  doth  escape. 

Higher  still  there,  where  the  transparent  silk 

Tapers  towards  the  ankle.     Have  a  care ; 

Let  me  not  have  to  chide  this  fault  again. 

\_Exit  Attendant. 
Joseph  — 

Madam,  I  have  a  message  from  my  lord. 


JOSEPH  AND  POTIPUAR'S  WIFE.  173 

Phraxanor — 

Put  that  to  rest.     Give  me  that  golden  box, 

'Tis  filled  with  precious  spikenard,  queen  of  scents. 

[She  spills  it  on  his  J^ead. 

Joseph  — 

Madam,  what  must  I  say  ?     My  state  is  low, 
Yet  you  do  treat  me  as  you  might  my  lord 
When  he  besought  your  hand. 
Phraxanor—  Must  I  get  up, 

And  cast  myself  in  thy  sustaining  arms. 
To  sink  thee  to  a  seat  ?  —  Come,  sit  thou  here. 
Now  I  will  neighbor  thee  and  tell  thee  why 
I  cast  that  ointment  on  thee. 
Jose2)h  —  I  did  not 

Desire  it. 
Phraxanor  —     You  did  ask  me  for  it. 
Joseph—  Madam! 

Phraxanor — 

You  breathed  upon  me  as  you  did  advance, 
And  sweets  do  love  sweets  for  an  offering. 
My  breath  is  sweet  and  subtle,  yet  I  dared 
Not  put  my  lips  half  close  enough  to  thine 
To  render  back  the  favor ;  so  I  say 
The  obligation  did  demand  as  much  — 
Why,  what  amaze  is  now  upon  thy  face  — 
Will  nothing  please  ? 
Joseph  —  Madam,  your  arm  —  pray  move. 

Phraxanor — 

You  peevish  bird  —  like  a  sick  eagle  I 
Could  fain  devour,  but  may  not. 
Joseph  —  I  beseech  you, 

If  you  respect  your  place,  or  my  fair  name, 
Undo  your  prisoning  arms  and  let  me  go. 
Phraxanor — 

Tremble  to  fear  the  woman  you  might  love. 
Joseph  — 

Indeed,  I  would  far  sooner  honor  her. 
Phraxanor — 

Cold,  cold,  still  cold ;  I  eye  you  like  to  one 
That  dieth  in  my  arms  :  beware  you  chill 
Me  too :  you  do  a  wrong,  and  herein  co\irt 
Much  danger.     I  would  risk  the  world  for  you; 
But  blow  me  cold  with  your  sharp  frosty  breath, 
And  these  same  arms  that  gird  you  round  about 
May  turn  to  bitter  chains.     We  are  most  dear 
In  our  affections  j  in  vengeance  most  resolved. 


174  JOSEPH  AND  POTIPHAR'S  WIFE. 

Joseph  — 

Madam,  I  have  a  spirit  beyond  fear. 
God  knows  the  duty  that  I  owe  your  lord 
Would  break  my  heart  did  I  commit  this  sin. 
But,  madam,  hear  the  reason  that  I  have, 
Why  my  lord's  honor  dearer  is  than  life. 
I  do  remember  me,  when  first  I  came 
Into  this  land  of  Egypt,  fugitive. 
Forlorn,  and  wretched,  bruised  at  the  heart, 
An  iron  collar  round  about  my  neck. 
Degrading  mark  of  bitter  servitude. 
Stalled  in  the  press  of  slaves  upon  the  mart, 
Brimful  of  misery  unto  the  crown, 
Forlorn,  cast  out,  abandoned,  and  bereaved, 
A  certain  man  did  look  into  my  face. 
As  though  to  penetrate  my  very  soul. 
By  slow  degrees  conviction  worked  on  him, 
And  through  my  sufferings  he  read  my  heart, 
And  all  his  features  melted  at  the  sight. 
A  sacred  pity  stole  into  his  eyes. 
That  dwelt  on  me  in  gentle  tenderness. 
Oh  !  balm  of  sweetness,  what  a  holy  joy 
Poured  like  a  flood  into  my  thousand  wounds 
Of  soul  and  body's  sore  afidiction. 
Whereof  I  languished  in  my  pilgrimage ! 
With  his  own  hands  he  drew  my  collar  off. 
Nor  bartered  with  the  merchant  for  my  price. 
He  took  me  to  his  house,  put  me  in  trust. 
Justly  and  wisely  kept  his  eyes  on  me. 
Weighing  with  care  my  actions  and  desert. 
And  by  degrees  received  me  to  his  breast, 
O'erloaded  me  with  benefits,  and  changed 
A  chain  of  iron  for  a  chain  of  gold, 
A  wolfskin  kirtle  for  a  purple  cloak, 
A  life  of  wretchedness  for  one  of  peace, 
A  broken  heart  to  love  and  tenderness. 
This  man,  so  full  of  human  charities. 
Had  many  precious  treasures,  which  he  gave 
To  me  in  trust,  but  far  above  the  rest 
Was  one  in  which  all  others  were  absorbed. 
As  in  a  holy  consecrated  shrine. 
Source  of  his  life,  his  honor's  nourishment, 
The  loss  of  which  would  be  a  fell  decree 
Of  shame,  despair,  and  infamy,  and  death. 
Madam,  this  honored,  honorable  man 
Was  noble  Potiphar,  your  lord  and  mine. 


JOSEPH  AND  POTIPHAR'S  WIFE.  176 

Need  I  add  more  ?  — 

I  pray  you  let  us  talk  on  common  things. 
Phraxanor — 

Neither  am  I  not  beautiful,  perhaps,  — 

Set  up  to  be  the  universal  fool. 

Why,  here's  a  waste  of  party-colored  words  — 

High-sounding  phrases,  empty  eloquence. 

"  My  lord !  my  lord ! "     It  scenteth  of  reproach. 

Sir,  have  a  care  —  blood  waits  on  insult,  ha ! 

One  way  or  other  I  will  have  your  heart. 
Joseph  [aside]  — 

This  wondrous  creature  is  of  faultless  mold. 

And  grace  plays  o'er  the  movement  of  her  limbs, 

Her  marvelous  beauty  irresistible, 

A  double  charm,  abandons  languishment, 

In  soft  repose  hints  at  oblivion. 

In  motion  her  imperious  dignity, 

At  secret  hours,  might  dictate  to  the  king. 

A  most  unscrupulous  voluptuousness 

Mars  Nature  in  her  marvelous  qualities ; 

A  fascinating  monster,  fatal  equally 

In  action  or  reaction  of  her  love ; 

Fair  flower  of  poisonous  perfume  born  to  kill. 

Never  the  demon  had  an  agency 

Where  he  had  nought  to  do  in  work  that's  done. 

Take  pity  on  yourself,  on  me,  on  him,  — 

On  me,  for  you  would  hate  me  mortally 

When  once  you  were  awakened  from  this  dream, 

To  see  the  hideous  monster  you  had  made. 

So  utterly  impossible  this  seems. 

That  I  am  prone  to  think  it  is  a  feint 

To  try  my  truth  and  prove  my  honesty. 
Phraxanor — 

Ah !  'tis  a  feint  that  burns  my  body  up, 

And  stirs  my  spirit  like  a  raging  sea. 

Think  you  to  pay  in  words  ?  —  deeds  —  deeds  I 

For  I  can  tell  you  that  you  have  in  hand 

One  who  will  have  no  debts. 
Joseph  —  It  is  enough. 

'Tis  time  this  hopeless  contest  had  an  end. 

I  have  borne  this  besieging  patiently, 

Still  hoping  to  arouse  your  modesty. 

Oh !  do  not  force  the  loathing  which  lies  hid 

Within  my  gall  to  rush  into  my  face. 


176  JOSEPH  AND  POTIPHAR'S  WIFE. 

Phraxanor — 

This  is  the  greatest  blessing  that  you  shun. 

Joseph  — 

Or  the  worst  sin. 

Phraxanor  —  Oh !  weigh  not  with  such  scales. 

Joseph  — 

Oh !  madam,  have  a  care. 

Phraxanor —  Listen,  or  else 

I'll  set  my  little  foot  upon  thy  neck ;  — 
Thou  art  like  a  beautiful  and  drowsy  snake, 
Cold,  and  inanimate,  and  coiled  around 
Upon  a  bank  of  rarest  sun-blown  flowers. 
My  eye  shall  be  the  renovating  sun  — 

Joseph  — 

Madam,  forbear ;  I'm  sick  to  think  of  it. 

Phraxanor — 

You  overdo  this  art,  for  Nature  sure 
Never  did  put  disgust  upon  a  lip 
So  near  a  woman's  :  an  empoisoned  cup 
Might  curdle  all  the  features  of  thy  face ; 
But  this  same  blandishment  iipon  my  brow 
Could  never  chase  the  color  from  thy  cheeks. 

Joseph  — 

Love,  being  forced,  so  sickeneth  the  sense, 
That  dull  monotony  is  nothing  to  it.  — 
A  pallid  appetite  is  sweeter  far 
Than  shocked  modesty  and  fierce  distaste. 

Phraxanor — 

\ou  are  too  dead  a  weight. 

Joseph  —  Why,  let  me  go. 

Phraxanor — 

My  arms  are  faint ;  smile  thou,  they're  ribs  of  steel. 

Joseph  — 

The  sun  ne'er  shin^d  in  a  pitch-black  night. 

Phraxanor — 

Oh !  ignorant  boy,  it  is  the  secret  hour 

The  sun  of  love  doth  shine  most  goodly  fair. 

Contemptible  darkness  never  yet  did  dull 

The  splendor  of  love's  palpitating  light. 

At  love's  slight  curtains,  that  are  made  of  sighs, 

Though  e'er  so  dark,  silence  is  seen  to  stand 

Like  to  a  flower  closed  in  the  night ; 

Or  like  a  lovely  image  drooping  down 

With  its  fair  head  aslant  and  finger  raised, 

And  mutely  on  its  shoulder  slumbering. 


JOSEPH  AND  POTIPHAR'S  WIFE.  177 

Pulses  do  sound  quick  music  in  Love's  ear, 
And  blended  fragrance  in  his  startled  breath 
Doth  hang  the  hair  with  drops  of  magic  dew. 
All  outward  thoughts,  all  common  circumstance, 
Are  buried  in  the  dimple  of  his  smil« : 
And  the  great  city  like  a  vision  sails 
From  out  the  closing  doors  of  the  hushed  mind. 
His  heart  strikes  audibly  against  his  ribs 
As  a  dove's  wing  doth  freak  upon  a  cage, 
Forcing  the  blood  athro'  the  cramped  veins 
Faster  than  dolphins  do  o'ershoot  the  tide' 
Coursed  by  the  yawning  shark.     Therefore  I  say 
Night-blooming  Cereus,  and  the  star  flower  sweet, 
The  honeysuckle,  and  the  eglantine. 
And  the  ringed  vinous  tree  that  yields  red  wine, 
Together  with  all  intertwining  flowers, 
Are  plants  most  fit  to  ramble  o'er  each  other, 
And  form  the  bower  of  all-precious  Love, 
Shrouding  the  sun  with  fragrant  bloom  and  leaves 
From  jealous  interception  of  Love's  gaze.  — 
This  is  Love's  cabin  in  the  light  of  day  — 
But  oh  !  compare  it  not  with  the  black  night,  — 
Delay,  thou  sun,  and  give  me  instant  night  — 
Its  soft,  mysterious,  and  secret  hours ; 
The  whitest  clouds  are  pillows  to  bright  stars, 
Ah !  therefore  shroud  thine  eyes. 
Joseph  —  Madam,  for  shame  I  — 

Fhraxanor  — 

Henceforth,  I'll  never  knit  with  glossed  bone. 
But  interlace  my  fingers  among  thine, 
And  ravel  them,  and  interlace  again. 
So  that  no  work  that's  done  content  the  eye. 
That  I  may  never  weary  in  my  work. 
Joseph  — 

Would  that  my  lord  were  come  ! 
Phraxanor—  Thy  hair  shall  be 

The  silken  trophy  of  the  spirit  of  Love, 
Where  I  will  lap,  fair  chains,  my  wreathed  arms. 
Joseph  — 

What's  to  be  done  ?    Madam,  give  way,  I  pray  you. 

Fhraxanor — 

Beware !  you'll  crack  my  lace. 
Joseph—  You  will  be  hurt. 

Fhraxanor — 

Oh !  for  some  savage  strength ! 


178  JOSEPH  AJUD  POTiPUAK'S   WIFE. 

Joseph  —  Away  !     Away  I 

Phraxanor — 

So,  you  are  loose —  I  pray  you  kill  mo  — do  1 

Joseph  — 

Let  me  pass  out  at  door. 

Phraxanor —  I  have  a  mind 

You  shall  at  once  walk  with  those  honest  limbi 
Into  your  grave. 

Joseph  —  Are  you  a  lady,  madam  ? 

Phraxanor — 

I  was  so,  biit  I  am  a  dragon  now : 

My  nostrils  are  stuffed  full  of  splenetive  fire ; 

My  tongue  is  turned  into  a  furious  sting, 

With  which  I'll  strike  you  —     Ha  1  be  sure  I  will. 

Josejyh  — 

Madam,  I  did  desire  you  no  offense. 

Phraxanor — 

Death  and  perdition,  no ! 

Joseph  —  Your  love  is  lost  on  me, 

And  I  refused  your  offer ;  which  was  wise. 

Phraxanor — 

Oh !  was  it  so  ?  have  you  so  much  scorn  left  ? 
Unload  it  in  my  lap  —  let  me  have  all, 
That  I  may  hate  with  cause.     Malice  is  proud, 
Nor  yields  to  trifles  —  nay,  despise  me  more. 

Joseph  — 

I  ne'er  despised  the  lady  of  my  lord,  — 
Only  her  vice. 

Phraxanor  —  My  lord  —  my  lord  —  canst  thou 

Not  mouth  that  word  distinctly  from  my  lady  ? 
My  lord!  —  He  surely  shall  be  paid  full  home 
That  honors  lords  above  a  lady's  love. 
Thou  hast  no  lord  but  me,  —  I  am  thy  lord : 
And  thou  shalt  find  it,  too,  —  fool  that  I  wai 
To  stoop  my  stateliness  to  such  a  calf 
Because  he  bore  about  a  panther's  hide. 
That  is  not  blood  which  fainteth  in  thy  veins, 
But  only  infant  milk.     Thou  minion ! 
Bought  up  for  drudgery  with  idle  gold. 
How  dar'st  thou  look  or  wink  thy  traitorous  eye, 
Much  less  to  think,  when  I  command  thy  will  ? 
Oh,  impudence  !  to  scorn  a  noble  dame  ! 
Were't  not  that  royalty  has  kissed  my  hand 
I'd  surely  strike  thee. 


KING   SOLOMON   AND   THE   HOOPOES.  179 

Joseph  —  Madam  !  be  temperate. 

Phraxanor — 

Who  bade  thee  speak,  impudent  slave  ?  beware  ! 

I'll  have  thee  whipped.  — Oh !  I  ara  mad  to  think 

That  ever  I  should  bring  myself  to  scorn 

For  such  a  stubborn  minion  as  thou  art. 

Ha !  —  thou  mere  shadow  —  wretched  atomy !  — 

Filled  full  of  nothing  —  making  a  brave  show, 

Like  to  a  robe  blown  with  the  boastful  wind  — 

Thou  worse  than  ice,  for  that  melts  to  the  sun  — 

Disgrace  to  Egypt  and  her  feverish  air ; 

Thou  shalt  not  stay  in  Egypt. 
Joseph  —  I  grieve  at  that. 

Phraxanor — 

I  am  changed.     Thou  shalt  stay  here  —  and  since  I  see 

There  is  no  spirit  of  life  in  all  this  show. 

Only  a  cheat  unto  the  sanguine  eye. 

Thou  shalt  be  given  to  the  leech's  hands 

To  study  causes  on  thy  bloodless  heart 

Why  men  should  be  like  geese.  —  A  pretty  pass 

I've  brought  my  dauntless  spirit  to.     These  knees, 

That  ne'er  did  bend  but  to  pluck  suitors  up. 

And  put  them  out  of  hope  —     Oh !  I  am  mad  — 

These  feet  by  common  accident  have  trod 

On  better  necks  than  e'er  bowed  to  the  king; 

And  must  I  tie  them  in  a  band  of  list 

Before  a  slave  like  thee  ? 


KING   SOLOMON   AND   THE   HOOPOES. 

By  Hon.  ROBERT  CURZON. 

[Robert  Curzon,  son  of  the  Baroness  de  la  Zouche,  was  bom  in  1810,  and 
educated  at  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  Entering  the  diplomatic  service,  he  became 
private  secretary  to  Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe ;  in  this  capacity  he  obtained 
access  to  the  monasteries  and  religious  houses  of  the  Levant,  and  collected  many 
valuable  manuscripts  and  books.  "Visits  to  the  Monasteries  in  the  Levant" 
appeared  in  1848.  This  was  followed  by  "Armenia ;  a  Residence  at  Erzeroum," 
published  in  1854.     He  died  in  August,  1873.] 

In  the  days  of  King  Solomon,  the  son  of  David,  who,  by 
the  virtue  of  his  cabalistic  seal,  reigned  supreme  over  genii  as 


180  SOLOMON   AND  THE  HOOPOES. 

well  as  men,  and  who  could  speak  the  languages  of  animals 
of  all  kinds,  all  created  beings  were  subservient  to  his  will. 
Now,  when  the  king  wanted  to  travel,  he  made  use,  for  his 
conveyance,  of  a  carpet  of  a  square  form.  This  carpet  had 
the  property  of  extending  itself  to  a  sufficient  size  to  carry  a 
whole  army,  with  the  tents  and  baggage  ;  but  at  other  times 
it  could  be  reduced  so  as  to  be  only  large  enough  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  royal  throne,  and  of  those  ministers  whose  duty  it 
was  to  attend  upon  the  person  of  the  sovereign.  Four  genii 
of  the  air  then  took  the  four  corners  of  the  carpet,  and  carried 
it  with  its  contents  wherever  King  Solomon  desired.  Once 
the  king  was  on  a  journey  in  the  air,  carried  upon  his  throne 
of  ivory  over  tlie  various  nations  of  the  earth.  The  rays  of 
the  sun  poured  down  upon  his  head,  and  he  had  nothing  to 
protect  him  from  its  heat.  The  fiery  beams  were  beginning 
to  scoicti  his  neck  and  shoulders,  when  he  saw  a  flock  of  vul- 
tures flying  past.  ''  O  vultures  !  "  cried  King  Solomon,  "  come 
and  fly  between  me  and  the  sun,  and  make  a  shadow  with 
your  wings  to  protect  me,  for  its  rays  are  scorching  my  neck 
and  face."  But  the  vultures  answered,  and  said,  "We  are 
flying  to  the  north,  and  your  face  is  turned  towards  the  south. 
We  desire  to  continue  on  our  way ;  and  be  it  known  unto 
thee,  O  king !  that  we  will  not  turn  back  in  our  flight, 
neither  will  we  fly  above  your  throne  to  protect  you  from 
the  sun,  although  its  rays  may  be  scorching  your  neck  and 
face."  Then  King  Solomon  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  said, 
"  Cursed  be  ye,  O  vultures  ! — and  because  you  will  not  obey 
the  commands  of  your  lord,  who  rules  over  the  whole  world, 
the  feathers  of  your  neck  shall  fall  off ;  and  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  and  the  cold  of  the  winter,  and  the  keenness  of  the  wind, 
and  the  beating  of  the  rain,  shall  fall  upon  your  rebellious 
necks,  which  shall  not  be  protected  with  feathers,  like  the 
neck  of  other  birds.  And  whereas  you  have  hitherto  fared 
delicately,  henceforward  ye  shall  eat  carrion  and  feed  upon 
offal ;  and  your  race  shall  be  impure  till  the  end  of  the  world." 
And  it  was  done  unto  the  vultures  as  King  Solomon  had  said. 
Now  it  fell  out  that  there  was  a  flock  of  hoopoes  flying 
past ;  and  the  king  cried  out  to  them,  and  said,  "  O  hoopoes  ! 
come  and  fly  between  me  and  the  sun,  that  I  may  be  protected 
from  its  rays  by  the  shadow  of  your  wings."  Whereupon  the 
king  of  the  hoopoes  answered,  and  said,  "  O  king  !  we  are 
but  little  fowls,  and  we   are  not  able  to  afford  much  shade  : 


SOLOMON   AND   THE  HOOPOES.  181 

but  we  will  gather  our  nation  together,  and  by  our  numbers 
we  will  make  up  for  our  small  size."  So  the  hoopoes  gathered 
together,  and,  flying  in  a  cloud  over  the  throne  of  the  king, 
they  sheltered  him  from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  When  the  jour- 
ney was  over,  and  King  Solomon  sat  upon  his  golden  throne, 
in  his  palace  of  ivory,  whereof  the  doors  were  emerald,  and 
the  windows  of  diamonds,  larger  even  than  the  diamond  of 
Jemshea,  he  commanded  that  the  king  of  hoopoes  should  stand 
before  his  feet. 

"  Now,"  said  King  Solomon,  "  for  the  service  that  thou  and 
thy  race  have  rendered,  and  the  obedience  thou  hast  shown 
to  the  king,  thy  lord  and  master,  what  shall  be  done  unto  thee, 
O  hoopoe?  —  and  what  shall  be  given  to  the  hoopoes  of  thy 
race,  for  a  memorial  and  a  reward  ?  " 

Now  the  king  of  the  hoopoes  was  confused  with  the  great 
honor  of  standing  before  the  feet  of  the  king;  and  making 
his  obeisance  and  laying  his  right  claw  upon  his  heart,  he 
said,  "  O  king,  live  forever !  Let  a  day  be  given  to  thy  ser- 
vant, to  consider  with  his  queen  and  his  counselors  what  it 
shall  be  that  the  king  shall  give  unto  us  for  a  reward."  And 
King  Solomon  said,  "Be  it  so." 
And  it  was  so. 

But  the  king  of  the  hoopoes  flew  away;  and  he  went  to 
his  queen,  who  was  a  dainty  hen,  and  he  told  her  what  had 
happened,  and  desired  her  advice  as  to  what  they  should  ask 
of  the  king  for  a  reward ;  and  he  called  together  his  council, 
and  they  sat  upon  a  tree,  and  they  each  of  them  desired  a 
different  thing.  Some  wished  for  a  long  tail ;  some  wished 
for  blue  and  green  feathers  ;  some  wished  to  be  as  large  as 
ostriches ;  some  wished  for  one  thing,  and  some  for  another ; 
and  they  debated  till  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  but  they 
could  not  agree  together.  Then  the  queen  took  the  king  of 
the  hoopoes  apart  and  said  to  him,  "My  dear  lord  and  hus- 
band, listen  to  my  words ;  and  as  we  have  preserved  the  head 
of  King  Solomon,  let  us  ask  for  crowns  of  gold  on  our  heads, 
that  we  may  be  superior  to  all  other  birds." 

And  the  words  of  the  queen  and  the  princesses,  her  daugh- 
ters, prevailed ;  and  the  king  of  the  hoopoes  presented  him- 
self before  the  throne  of  Solomon,  and  desired  of  him  that  all 
hoopoes  should  wear  golden  crowns  upon  their  heads.  Then 
Solomon  said,  "  Hast  thou  considered  well  what  it  is  that  thou 
desirest?"     And  the   hoopoe   said,  "I   have   considered  well, 


182  S01.0M0N   AND   THE   IIOOrOES. 

and  we  desire  to  have  golden  crowns  upon  our  heads."  So 
Solomon  replied,  "  Crowns  of  gold  shall  ye  have :  but,  behold, 
thou  art  a  foolisli  bird ;  and  when  the  evil  days  shall  come 
upon  thee,  and  thou  seest  the  folly  of  thy  heart,  return  here 
to  me,  and  I  will  give  thee  help."  So  the  king  of  the  hoopoes 
left  the  presence  of  King  Solomon  with  a  golden  crown  upon 
his  head,  and  all  the  hoopoes  had  golden  crowns ;  and  they 
were  exceeding  proud  and  haughty.  Moreover,  they  went 
down  by  the  lakes  and  the  pools,  and  walked  by  the  margin 
of  the  water,  that  they  might  admire  themselves,  as  it  were, 
in  a  glass.  And  the  queen  of  the  hoopoes  gave  herself  airs, 
and  sat  upon  a  twig ;  and  she  refused  to  speak  to  the  merops, 
her  cousins,  and  the  other  birds  who  had  been  her  friends, 
because  they  were  but  vulgar  birds,  and  she  wore  a  crown 
of  gold  upon  her  head. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  fowler  who  set  traps  for  birds ; 
and  he  put  a  piece  of  a  broken  mirror  into  his  trap,  and  a 
hoopoe  that  went  in  to  admire  itself  was  caught.  And  the 
fowler  looked  at  it,  and  saw  the  shining  crown  upon  its  head  ; 
so  he  wrung  off  its  head,  and  took  the  crown  to  Issachar,  the 
son  of  Jacob,  the  worker  in  metal,  and  he  asked  him  what  it 
was.  So  Issachar,  the  son  of  Jacob,  said,  "It  is  a  crown  of 
brass,"  and  he  gave  the  fowler  a  quarter  of  a  shekel  for  it, 
and  desired  him,  if  he  found  any  more,  to  bring  them  to  him, 
and  to  tell  no  man  thereof.  So  the  fowler  caught  some  more 
hoopoes,  and  sold  their  crowns  to  Issachar,  the  son  of  Jacob ; 
until  one  day  he  met  another  man  who  was  a  jeweler,  and  he 
showed  him  several  of  the  hoopoes'  crowns.  Whereupon  the 
jeweler  told  him  that  they  were  of  pure  gold,  and  he  gave  the 
fowler  a  talent  of  gold  for  four  of  them. 

Now  when  the  value  of  these  crowns  was  known,  the  fame 
of  them  got  abroad,  and  in  all  the  land  of  Israel  was  heard 
the  twang  of  bows  and  the  whirling  of  slings ;  bird  lime  was 
made  in  every  town,  and  the  price  of  traps  rose  in  the  mar- 
ket, so  that  the  fortunes  of  the  trapmakers  increased.  Not  a 
hoopoe  could  show  its  head  but  it  was  slain  or  taken  captive, 
and  the  days  of  the  hoopoes  were  numbered.  Then  their 
minds  were  filled  with  sorrow  and  dismay,  and  before  long 
few  were  left  to  bewail  their  cruel  destiny. 

At  last,  flying  by  stealth  through  the  most  unfrequented 
places,  the  unhappy  king  of  the  hoopoes  went  to  the  court  of 
King  Solomon,  and  stood  again  before  the  steps  of  the  golden 


CONE  IN  THE  WIND.  183 

throne,  and  with  tears  and  groans  related  the  misfortunes  which 
had  happened  to  his  race. 

So  King  Solomon  looked  kindly  upon  the  king  ot  the 
hoopoes,  and  said  unto  him:  "Behold,  did  I  not  warn  thee 
of  thy  folly,  in  desiring  to  have  crowns  of  gold  ?  Vanity  and 
pride  have  been  thy  ruin.  But  now,  that  a  memorial  may 
remain  of  the  service  which  thou  didst  render  unto  me,  your 
crowns  of  gold  shall  be  changed  into  crowns  of  feathers,  that 
ye  may  walk  unharmed  upon  the  earth."  Now,  when  the 
fowlers  saw  that  the  hoopoes  no  longer  wore  crowns  of  gold 
upon  their  heads,  they  ceased  from  the  persecution  of  their 
race  ;  and  from  that  time  forth  the  family  of  the  hoopoes 
have  flourished  and  increased,  and  have  continued  in  peace 
even  to  the  present  day. 


GONE   IN   THE   WIND. 

Bt  friedrich  ruckert. 

(Translated  by  James  Clarence  Mangan.) 

FFriedrich  BiicKERT,  German  poet  and  Orientalist,  was  born  at  Schwein- 
furt  May  16,  1788,  and  was  professor  of  Oriental  languages  at  Erlangen  182()- 
1841  and  at  Berlin  1841-1848.  After  resigning  his  position  at  the  latter  place, 
he  lived  at  Neusses,  near  Coburg,  and  there  died  Januaiy  31,  1860.  He  recast 
in  German  verse  several  of  the  famous  books  of  the  East,  among  them  the 
"Abu  Seid"  of  Hariri  and  the  "Nal  and  Damajanti"  from  the  Mahabharata 
His  original  poems  include:  "  Geharnischte  Sonnette "  ("Mailed  aonnets, 
1814),    inspirlJd   by   the  national  movement  of  1813,    and   " Liebesfruhlmg " 

("Love's  Spring,"  1822).  .    t^  ir      iv,fo,.  i    iRO^ 

James  Clarence  Mangan,  an  Irish  poet,  was  born  m  Dubhn,  May  1,  1803. 
As  a  bov  he  was  a  copyist  and  attorney's  clerk,  and  worked  at  the  former  trade 
intermittently  all  his  life.  Extreme  poverty,  overwork,  bohemian  irregularity 
and  exposure,  and  opium,  made  him  a  physical  wreck  ;  and  he  died  of  cholera 
June  20,  1849.  Several  partial  editions  of  his  poems  have  been  published,  ine 
bulk  of  them,  and  his  best  work,  are  translations.] 

Solomon  !  where  is  thy  throne  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
Babylon !  where  is  thy  might  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
Like  the  swift  shadows  of  Noon,  like  the  dreams  of  the  Blind, 
Vanish  the  glories  and  pomps  of  earth  in  the  wind. 

Man!  canst  thou  build  upon  aught  in  the  pride  of  thy  mind? 
Wisdom  will  teach  thee  that  nothing  can  tarry  behind; 


184  GONE  IN   THE   WIND. 

Though  there  be  thousand  bright  actions  embalmed  and  enshrined, 
Myriads  and  millions  of  brighter  are  snow  in  the  wind. 

Solomon !  where  is  thy  throne  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
Babylon !  where  is  thy  might  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
All  that  the  genius  of  man  hath  achieved  or  designed, 
Waits  but  its  hour  to  be  dealt  with  as  dust  by  the  wind. 

Say,  what  is  Pleasure  ?  a  phantom,  a  mask  audefined; 
Science  ?  an  almond,  whereof  we  can  pierce  bu"  "he  rind ; 
Honor  and  Affluence  ?    Firmans  and  Fortune  haw  iigasd 
Only  to  glitter  and  pass  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

Solomon !  where  is  thy  throne  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
Babylon !  where  is  thy  might  ?    It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
"Who  is  the  Fortunate  ?     He  who  in  anguish  hath  pined  I 
He  shall  rejoice  when  his  relics  are  dust  in  the  wind  I 

Mortal !  be  careful  with  what  thy  best  hopes  are  entwined ; 
Woe  to  the  miners  for  Truth  —  where  the  Lampless  have  mined ! 
Woe  to  the  seekers  on  earth  for  —  what  none  ever  find ! 
They  and  their  trust  shall  be  scattered  like  leaves  on  the  wind. 

Solomon !  where  is  thy  throne  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
Babylon  !  where  is  thy  might  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
Happy  in  death  are  they  only  whose  hearts  have  consigned 
All  Earth's  affections  and  longings  and  cares  to  the  wind. 

Pity,  thou,  reader !  the  madness  of  poor  Humankind, 
Raving  of  Knowledge,  —  and  Satan  so  busy  to  blind ! 
Raviug  of  Glory,  — like  me,  —  for  the  garlands  I  bind 
(Garlands  of  song)  are  but  gathered,  and  —  strewn  in  the  wind. 

Solomon !  where  is  thy  throne  ?     It  is  gone  m  the  wind. 
Babylon !  where  is  thy  might  ?     It  is  gone  in  the  wind. 
I,  Abul-Namez,  uvist  rest ;  for  my  fire  hath  declined. 
And  I  hear  voices  from  Hades  like  bells  on  the  wind. 


CLASSIC  CHINESE  POEMS.  185 

CLASSIC   CHINESE   POEMS. 

(From  the  Shi-King  :  translated  by  William  Jennings.) 

A  Challenge. 

[This  ifi  a  parallel,  from  the  woman's  side,  to  George  Wither's  **  Shall  I,  pining 

in  despair."] 

If,  boy,  thy  thoughts  of  me  were  kind, 
I'd  lift  my  skirts  and  wade  the  Tsin; 

But  if  thou  be  of  other  mind, 

Is  there  none  else  my  love  would  win  ? 
O  craziest  of  crazy  boys  ! 

Ay,  if  thy  thoughts  of  me  were  kind, 
I'd  lift  my  skirts  and  wade  the  Wei; 

But  if  thy  thoughts  are  else  inclined. 
Is  there  none  other  gallant  nigh  ? 

0  craziest  of  crazy  boys ! 

The  Absent  Husband. 

I  picked  and  picked  the  mouse  ears, 

Nor  gained  one  basket  load; 
My  heart  was  with  my  husband : 

1  flung  them  on  the  road. 

I  climbed  yon  rugged  mountain, 

My  ponies  all  broke  down ; 
I  filled  my  golden  goblet 

Long  anxious  thought  to  drown. 

I  climbed  yon  lofty  ridges. 

With  my  ponies  black  and  bay ; 
I  filled  for  me  my  horn  cup 

Long  torture  to  allay. 

I  climbed  yon  craggy  uplands, 

My  steeds  grew  weak  and  ill ; 
My  footmen  were  exhausted ;  — 

And  here  I  sorrow  still ! 


186  CLASSIC   CHINESE   POEMS. 

Lament  of  a  Discarded  Wif«. 

When  east  winds  blow  unceasingly, 

They  bring  but  gloominess  and  rain. 
Strive,  strive  to  live  unitedly. 

And  every  angry  thought  restrain. 
Some  plants  we  gather  for  their  leaves, 

But  leave  the  roots  untouched  beneath ; 
So,  while  unsullied  was  my  name, 

I  should  have  lived  with  you  till  death. 

With  slow,  slow  step  I  took  the  road, 

My  inmost  heart  rebelling  sore. 
You  came  not  far  with  me,  indeed, 

You  only  saw  me  to  the  door. 
Who  calls  the  lettuce  bitter  fare, 

The  cress  is  not  a  whit  more  sweet. 
Ay,  feast  there  with  your  new-found  bride, 

Well  pleased,  as  when  fond  brothers  meet. 

The  Wei,  made  turbid  by  the  king, 

Grows  limpid  by  the  islets  there. 
There,  feasting  with  your  new-found  bride 

For  me  no  longer  now  you  care. 
Yet  leave  to  me  my  fishing  dam ; 

My  wicker  nets,  remove  them  not. 
My  person  spurned  —  some  vacant  hour 

May  bring  compassion  for  my  lot. 

Where  ran  the  river  full  and  deep. 

With  raft  or  boat  I  paddled  o'er ; 
And  where  it  flowed  in  shallower  stream, 

I  dived  or  swam  from  shore  to  shore. 
And  what  we  had,  or  what  we  lost. 

For  that  I  strained  my  every  nerve ; 
When  other  folks  had  loss,  I'd  crawl 

Upon  my  knees,  if  aught  'twould  serve. 

And  you  can  show  me  no  kind  care. 
Nay,  treated  like  a  foe  am  I ! 

My  virtue  stood  but  in  your  way, 

Like  traders'  goods  that  none  will  buy. 

Once  it  was  feared  we  could  not  live ; 
In  your  reverses  then  I  shared : 


CLASSIC   CHINESE  POEMS.  187 

And  now,  when  fortune  smiles  on  you, 
To  very  poison  I'm  compared. 

I  have  laid  by  a  goodly  store,  — 

For  winter's  use  it  was  to  be ;  — 
Feast  on  there  with  your  new-found  bride,  — 

/  was  for  use  in  poverty ! 
Bude  fits  of  anger  you  have  shown, 

Now  left  me  to  be  sorely  tried. 
Ah,  you  forget  those  days  gone  by, 

When  you  came  nestling  to  my  side ! 

Comrades  in  War  Time. 

How  say  we  have  no  clothes  ? 

One  plaid  for  both  will  do. 
Let  but  the  king,  in  raising  men, 

Our  spears  and  pikes  renew,— 

We'll  fight  as  one,  we  two ! 

How  say  we  have  no  clothes  ? 

One  skirt  our  limbs  shall  hide. 
Let  but  the  king,  in  raising  men, 

Halberd  and  lance  provide,  — 

We'll  do  it,  side  by  side ! 

How  say  we  have  no  clothes  ? 

My  kirtle  thou  shalt  wear. 
Let  but  the  king,  in  raising  men. 

Armor  and  arms  prepare,  — 

The  toils  of  war  we'll  share. 

Trust  thy  Last  Friend  against  the  World. 

A  babbling  current  fails 
To  float  a  load  of  thorns  away,  — 
Of  brothers,  few  are  left  us  now. 
Yet  we  remain,  myself  and  thou : 

Believe  not  others'  tales. 
Others  will  lead  thee  far  astray. 

The  babbling  current  fails 
To  float  the  firewood  fagots  far.  — 
Of  brothers  there  are  left  but  few, 
Yet  I  and  thou  remain,  we  two : 

Believe  not  others'  tales, 
For  verily  untrue  they  are ! 


188  THE   DOCTRINE   OF   THE   MEAN. 

THE  DOCTEINE  OF  THE  MEAN, 

Bt  CONFUCIUS. 

(Translated  by  James  Legge,  in  "  Chinese  Classics.") 

Chapter  I.  1.  What  Heaven  has  conferred  is  called 
the  Nature;  a.^  accordance  with  this  nature  is  called  the 
PATH  of  duty;    the  regulation  of  this  path  is  called  instkuc- 

TION. 

2.  The  path  may  not  be  left  for  an  instant.  If  it  could  be 
left,  it  would  not  be  the  path.  On  this  account,  the  superior 
man  does  not  wait  till  he  sees  things,  to  be  cautious,  nor  till  he 
hears  things,  to  be  apprehensive. 

3.  There  is  nothing  more  visible  than  what  is  secret,  and 
nothing  more  manifest  than  what  is  minute.  Therefore  the 
superior  man  is  watchful  over  himself,  when  he  is  alone. 

4.  While  there  are  no  stirrings  of  pleasure,  anger,  sorrow, 
or  joy,  the  mind  may  be  said  to  be  in  the  state  of  equilibrium. 
When  those  feelings  have  been  stirred,  and  they  act  in  their 
due  degree,  there  ensues  what  may  be  called  the  state  of 
Harmony.  This  Equilibrium  is  the  great  root  from  which 
grow  all  the  human  actings  in  the  world,  and  this  harmony  is 
the  universal  path  which  they  all  should  pursue. 

5.  Let  the  states  of  Equilibrium  and  harmony  exist  in  per- 
fection, and  a  happy  order  will  prevail  throughout  heaven  and 
earth,  and  all  things  will  be  nourished  and  flourish. 

Chapter  II.  1.  Chung-ne  said,  "  The  superior  man  embodies 
the  course  of  the  Mean ;  the  mean  man  acts  contrary  to  the 
course  of  the  Mean. 

2.  "  The  superior  man's  embodying  the  course  of  the  Mean 
is  because  he  is  a  superior  man,  and  so  always  maintains  the 
Mean.  The  mean  man's  acting  contrary  to  the  course  of  the 
Mean  is  because  he  is  a  mean  man,  and  has  no  caution." 

Chapter  III.  The  Master  said :  "  Perfect  is  the  virtue  which 
is  according  to  the  Mean !  Rare  have  they  long  been  among  the 
people,  who  could  practice  it !  " 

Chapter  IV.  1.  The  Master  said,  "  I  know  how  it  is  that 
the  path  of  the  Mean  is  not  walked  in:  The  Knowing  go 
beyond  it,  and  the  stupid  do  not  come  up  to  it.  I  know  how  it 
is  that  the  path  of  the  Mean  is  not  understood:    The  men  of 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  MEAN.  189 

talents  and  virtue  go  beyond  it,  and  the  worthless  do  not  come 
up  to  it. 

2.  "  There  is  no  body  but  eats  and  drinks.  But  they  are 
few  who  can  distinguish  flavors." 

Chapter  V.  The  Master  said,  "  Alas  !  How  is  the  path  of 
the  Mean  untrodden  I  " 

Chapter  VI.  The  Master  said  :  "  There  was  Shun :  He  in- 
deed was  greatly  wise  I  Shun  loved  to  question  others,  and  to 
study  their  words,  though  they  might  be  shallow.  He  con- 
cealed what  was  bad  in  them,  and  displayed  what  was  good. 
He  took  hold  of  their  two  extremes,  determined  the  Mean,  and 
employed  it  in  his  government  of  the  people.  It  was  by  this 
that  he  was  Shun  !  " 

Chapter  VII.  The  Master  said :  "  Men  all  say,  '  We  are 
wise ; '  but  being  driven  forward  and  taken  in  a  net,  a  trap,  or 
a  pitfall,  they  know  not  how  to  escape.  Men  all  say,  '  We  are 
wise ; '  but  happening  to  choose  the  course  of  the  Mean,  they 
are  not  able  to  keep  it  for  a  round  month." 

Chapter  VIII.  The  Master  said,  "  This  was  the  manner  of 
Hwuy  :  he  made  choice  of  the  Mean,  and  whenever  he  got  hold 
of  what  was  good,  he  clasped  it  firmly,  as  if  wearing  it  on  his 
breast,  and  did  not  lose  it." 

Chapter  IX.  The  Master  said,  "  The  empire,  its  States,  and 
its  families  may  be  perfectly  ruled ;  dignities  and  emoluments 
may  be  declined ;  naked  weapons  may  be  trampled  under  the 
feet;  but  the  course  of  the  Mean  cannot  be  attained  to." 

Chapter  X.    1.  Tsze-loo  asked  about  energy. 

2.  The  Master  said,  "  Do  you  mean  the  energy  of  the  South, 
the  energy  of  the  North,  or  the  energy  which  you  should  culti- 
vate yourself? 

3.  "  To  show  forbearance  and  gentleness  in  teaching  others ; 
and  not  to  revenge  unreasonable  conduct :  this  is  the  energy  of 
Southern  regions,  and  the  good  man  makes  it  his  study. 

4.  "  To  lie  under  arms ;  and  meet  death  without  regret : 
this  is  the  energy  of  Northern  regions,  and  the  forceful  make  it 
their  study. 

5.  "  Therefore,  the  superior  man  cultivates  a  friendly  har- 
mony, without  being  weak.  How  firm  is  he  in  his  energy ! 
He  stands  erect  in  the  middle,  without  inclining  to  either  side. 
How  firm  is  he  in  his  energy!  When  good  principles  prevail  in 
the  government  of  his  country,  he  does  not  change  from  what 
he  was  in  retirement.     How  firm  he  is  in  his  energy  I    When 


190  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  MEAN. 

bad  principles  prevail  in  the  country,  he  maintains  his  course 
to  death  without  changing.     How  firm  is  his  energy !  " 

Chapter  XI.  1.  The  Master  said,  "  To  live  in  obscurity,  and 
yet  practice  wonders,  in  order  to  be  mentioned  with  honor  in 
future  ages  ;  this  is  what  I  do  not  do. 

2.  "  The  good  man  tries  to  proceed  according  to  the  right 
path,  but  when  he  has  gone  halfway,  he  abandons  it ;  I  am  not 
able  80  to  stop. 

3.  "  The  superior  man  accords  with  the  course  of  the  Mean. 
Though  he  may  be  well  unknown,  unregarded  by  the  world,  he 
feels  no  regret.     It  is  only  the  sage  who  is  able  for  this." 

Chapter  XII.  1.  The  way  which  the  superior  man  pur- 
sues, reaches  wide  and  far,  and  yet  is  secret. 

2.  Common  men  and  women,  however  ignorant,  may  inter- 
meddle with  the  knowledge  of  it ;  yet  in  its  utmost  reaches, 
there  is  that  which  even  the  sage  does  not  know.  Common 
men  and  women,  however  much  below  the  ordinary  standard 
of  character,  can  carry  it  into  practice ;  yet  in  its  utmost 
reaches  there  is  that  which  even  the  sage  is  not  able  to  carry 
into  practice.  Great  as  heaven  and  earth  are,  men  still  find 
some  things  in  them  with  which  to  be  dissatisfied.  Thus  it  is, 
that  were  the  superior  man  to  speak  of  his  way  in  all  its  great- 
ness, nothing  in  the  world  would  be  found  able  to  embrace  it, 
and  were  he  to  speak  of  it  in  its  minuteness,  nothing  in  the 
world  would  be  found  able  to  split  it. 

3.  It  is  said  in  the  Book  of  Poetry,  "  The  hawk  flies  up  to 
heaven  ;  the  fishes  leap  in  the  deep."  This  expresses  how  this 
way  is  seen  above  and  below. 

4.  The  way  of  the  superior  man  may  be  found,  in  its  simple 
elements,  in  the  intercourse  of  common  men  and  women ;  but  in 
its  utmost  reaches  it  shines  brightly  through  heaven  and  earth. 

Chapter  XIII.  1.  The  Master  said  :  "  The  path  is  not  far 
from  man.  When  men  try  to  pursue  a  course,  which  is  far 
from  the  common  indications  of  consciousness,  this  course  can- 
not be  considered  the  path. 

2.  "In  the  Book  of  Poetry,  it  is  said,  *In  hewing  an  ax 
handle,  the  pattern  is  not  far  off.'  We  grasp  one  ax  handle  to 
hew  the  other,  and  yet,  if  we  look  askance  from  the  one  to  the 
other,  we  may  consider  them  as  apart.  Therefore,  the  supe- 
rior man  governs  men,  according  to  their  nature,  with  what  is 
proper  to  them ;  and  as  soon  as  they  change  what  is  wrong,  he 
stops. 


THE   DOCTRINE   OF   THE   MEAN.  191 

3.  "When  one  cultivates  to  the  utmost  the  principles  of 
his  nature,  and  exercises  them  on  the  principle  of  reciprocity, 
he  is  not  far  from  the  path.  What  you  do  not  like,  when  done 
to  yourself,  do  not  do  to  others. 

4.  "  In  the  way  of  the  superior  man  there  are  four  things, 
to  not  one  of  which  have  I  as  yet  attained:  To  serve  my 
father,  as  I  would  require  my  son  to  serve  me ;  to  this  I  have 
not  attained.  To  serve  my  prince,  as  I  would  require  my  min- 
ister to  serve  me ;  to  this  I  have  not  attained.  To  serve  my 
elder  brother,  as  I  would  require  my  younger  brother  to  serve 
me  ;  to  this  I  have  not  attained.  To  set  the  example  in  behav- 
ing to  a  friend,  as  I  would  require  him  to  behave  to  me ;  to 
this  I  have  not  attained.  Earnest  in  practicing  the  ordinary 
virtues,  and  careful  in  speaking  about  them,  if,  in  his  practice, 
he  has  anything  defective,  the  superior  man  dares  not  but  ex- 
ert himself  ;  and  if,  in  his  words,  he  has  any  excess,  he  dares 
not  allow  himself  such  license.  Thus  his  words  have  respect 
to  his  actions,  and  his  actions  have  respect  to  his  words  ;  is  if 
not  just  an  entire  sincerity  which  marks  the  superior  man  ?  " 

Chapter  XIV.  1.  The  superior  man  does  what  is  proper  to 
the  station  in  which  he  is  ;  he  does  not  desire  to  go  beyond  this. 

2.  In  a  position  of  wealth  and  honor,  he  does  what  is 
proper  to  a  position  of  wealth  and  honor.  In  a  poor  and  low 
position,  he  does  what  is  proper  to  a  poor  and  low  position. 
Situated  among  barbarous  tribes,  he  does  what  is  proper  to  a 
situation  among  barbarous  tribes.  In  a  position  of  sorrow  and 
difficulty,  he  does  what  is  proper  to  a  position  of  sorrow  and 
difficulty.  The  superior  man  can  find  himself  in  no  situation 
in  which  he  is  not  himself. 

3.  In  a  high  situation,  he  does  not  treat  with  contempt  his 
inferiors.  In  a  low  situation,  he  does  not  court  the  favor  of 
his  superiors.  He  rectifies  himself,  and  seeks  for  nothing  from 
others,  so  that  he  has  no  dissatisfactions.  He  does  not  mur- 
mur against  heaven,  nor  grumble  against  men. 

4.  Thus  it  is  that  the  superior  man  is  quiet  and  calm,  wait- 
ing for  the  appointments  of  Heaven;  while  the  mean  man 
walks  in  dangerous  paths,  looking  for  lucky  occurrences. 

5.  The  Master  said :  "  In  archery  we  have  something  like 
the  way  of  the  superior  man.  When  the  archer  misses  the 
center  of  the  target,  he  turns  round  and  seeks  for  the  cause  of 
his  failure  in  himself." 

Chapter  XV.     1.    The  way  of  the  superior  man  may  bo 


192  THE   DOCTRINE   OF   THE   MEAN. 

compared  to  what  takes  place  in  traveling,  when  to  go  to  a 
distance  we  must  first  traverse  the  space  that  is  near,  and  in 
ascending  a  height,  when  we  must  begin  from  the  lower  ground. 

2.  It  is  said  in  the  Book  of  Poetry :  "  Happy  union  with 
wife  and  children  is  like  the  music  of  lutes  and  harps.  When 
there  is  concord  among  brethren,  the  harmony  is  delightful 
and  enduring.  Thus  may  you  regulate  your  family,  and  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  your  wife  and  children." 

3.  The  Master  said,  "  In  such  a  state  of  things,  parents 
have  entire  complacence  !  " 

Chapter  XVI.  1.  The  Master  said,  "  How  abundantly  do 
spiritual  beings  display  the  powers  that  belong  to  them  I 

2.  "  We  look  for  them,  but  do  not  see  them  ;  we  listen  to, 
but  do  not  hear  them ;  yet  they  enter  into  all  things,  and  there 
is  nothing  without  them. 

3.  "  They  cause  all  the  people  in  the  empire  to  fast  and 
purify  themselves,  and  array  themselves  in  their  richest  dresses, 
in  order  to  attend  at  their  sacrifices.  Then,  like  overflowing 
water,  they  seem  to  be  over  the  heads,  and  on  the  right  and 
left  of  their  worshipers. 

4.  "  It  is  said  in  the  Book  of  Poetry,  '  The  approaches  of 
the  spirits,  you  cannot  surmise ;  and  can  you  treat  them  with 
indifference  ? ' 

5.  "Such  is  the  manifestness  of  what  is  minute  !  Such  is 
the  impossibility  of  repressing  the  outgoings  of  sincerity  !  " 

Chapter  XVII.  1.  The  Master  said  :  "  How  greatly  filial 
was  Shun  !  His  virtue  was  that  of  a  sage ;  his  dignity  was  the 
imperial  throne  ;  his  riches  were  all  within  the  four  seas.  He 
offered  his  sacrifices  in  his  ancestral  temple,  and  his  descend- 
ants preserved  the  sacrifices  to  himself. 

2.  "  Therefore  having  such  great  virtue,  it  could  not  but 
be  that  he  should  obtain  the  throne,  that  he  should  obtain 
those  riches,  that  he  should  obtain  his  fame,  that  he  should  at- 
tain to  his  long  life. 

3.  "  Thus  it  is  that  Heaven,  in  the  production  of  things,  is 
surely  bountiful  to  them,  according  to  their  qualities.  Hence 
the  tree  that  is  flourishing,  it  nourishes ;  while  that  which  is 
ready  to  fall,  it  overthrows. 

4.  "  In  the  Book  of  Poetry,  it  is  said,  '  The  admirable,  ami- 
able prince  displayed  conspicuously  his  excelling  virtue,  ad- 
justing his  people  and  adjusting  his  officers.  Therefore,  he 
received  from   Heaven  the  emoluments  of   dignity.     It  pro- 


VEDIC  HYMNS.  193 

tected  him,  assisted  him,  decreed  him   the  throne  ;    sending 
from  heaven  these  favors,  as  it  were  repeatedly.' 

5.    "  We  may  say,  therefore,  that  he  who  is  greatly  virtu- 
ous will  be  sure  to  receive  the  appointment  of  Heaven." 


VEDIC   HYMNS. 

By  Sib  MONIER  M0NIER-WILLIAM8. 
[Sir  Monier  Monikr-Williams  :  A  leading  Anglo-Indian  leikographer 
and  Orientalist ;  born  at  Bombay,  India,  November  12,  1819  ;  died  1889.  From 
1860  on  he  was  professor  of  Sanskrit  in  Oxford.  He  published  several  Sanskr  t 
dictionaries,  a  Sanskrit  and  a  Hindustani  grammar;  "  I^'^^f  "/P^^f!^*^  , 
(Sr"  Indian  Wisdom"  (1875),  "Hinduism"  (1877),  -  Modem  India  and 
the  Indians"  (1878),  "Buddhism,"  etc.,  1889.] 

To  what  deities  were  the  prayers  and  hymns  of  the  Vedas 
addressed?  This  is  an  interesting  inquiry,  for  these  were 
probably  the  very  deities  worshiped  under  similar  names  by 
our  Aryan  progenitors  in  their  primeval  home.  The  answer 
is :  They  worshiped  those  physical  forces  before  which  all 
nations,  if  guided  solely  by  the  light  of  nature,  have  in  the 
early  period  of  their  life  instinctively  bowed  down,  and  before 
which  even  the  more  civilized  and  enlightened  have  always  been 
compelled  to  bend  in  awe  and  reverence  if  not  in  adoration. 

To  our  Aryan  forefathers  God's  power  was  exhibited  in  the 
forces  of  nature  even  more  evidently  than  to  ourselves.     Lands, 
houses,  flocks,  herds,  men,  and  animals  were  more  frequently 
than  in  Western  climates   at  the   mercy  of   winds,  fire,  and 
water;    and  the  sun's   rays   appeared  to  be  endowed  with  a 
potency  quite  beyond  the  experience  of  any  European  country. 
We  cannot  be  surprised,  then,  that  these  forces  were  regarded 
by  our  Eastern  progenitors  as  actual  manifestations,  either  of 
one  deity  in  different  moods  or  of  separate  rival  deities  con- 
tending for  supremacy.     Nor  is  it  wonderful  that  these  mighty 
agencies  should  have  been  at  first  poetically  personified,  and 
afterwards,  when  invested  with  forms,  attributes,  and  individu- 
ality, worshiped  as  distinct  gods.      It  was  only  natural,  too, 
that  a  varying  supremacy  and  varying  honors  should  have  been 
accorded  to  each  deified  force— to  the  air,  the  rain,  the  storm, 
the  sun,  or  fire  —  according  to  the  special  atmospheric  influences 
to  which  particular  localities  were  exposed,  or  according  to  the 
seasons  of  the  year  when  the  dominance  of   each  was  to  b« 
prayed  for  or  deprecated. 


194  VEDIC   HYMNS. 

This  was  the  leligion  represented  in  the  Vedas  and  the 
primitive  creed  of  the  Indo-Aryans  about  twelve  or  thirteen 
centuries  before  Christ.  Tlie  first  forces  deified  seem  to  have 
been  those  manifested  in  the  sky  and  air.  These  were  at  first 
generalized  under  one  rather  vague  personification,  as  was 
natural  in  the  earliest  attempts  at  giving  shape  to  religious 
ideas.  For  it  may  be  observed  that  all  religious  systems,  even 
the  most  polytheistic,  have  generally  grown  out  of  some  unde- 
fined original  belief  in  a  divine  power  or  powers  controlling 
and  regulating  the  universe.  And  although  innumerable  gods 
and  goddesses,  gifted  with  a  thousand  shapes,  now  crowd  the 
Hindu  Pantheon,  appealing  to  the  instincts  of  the  unthinking 
millions  whose  capacity  for  religious  ideas  is  supposed  to  require 
the  aid  of  external  symbols,  it  is  probable  that  there  existed 
for  the  first  Aryan  worshipers  a  similar  theistic  creed  ;  even 
as  the  thoughtful  Hindu  of  the  present  day  looks  through  the 
maze  of  his  mythology  to  the  philosophical  background  of  one 
eternal  self-existent  Being,  one  universal  Spirit,  into  whose 
unity  all  visible  symbols  are  gathered,  and  in  whose  essence 
all  entities  are  comprehended. 

In  the  Veda  this  unity  soon  diverged  into  various  ramifica- 
tions. Only  a  few  of  the  hymns  appear  to  contain  the  simple 
conception  of  one  divine  self-existent  omnipresent  Being,  and 
even  in  these  the  idea  of  one  God  present  in  all  nature  is  some- 
what nebulous  and  undefined. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  how  this  idea,  vaguely  stated  as  it 
was  in  the  Veda,  gradually  developed  and  became  more  clearly 
defined  in  the  time  of  Manu.  In  the  last  verses  of  the  twelfth 
book  (123-125)  we  have  the  following:  ''Him  some  adore  as 
trans cendently  present  in  fire ;  others  in  Manu,  lord  of  crea- 
tures ;  some  as  more  distinctly  present  in  Indra,  others  in  pure 
air,  others  as  the  most  high  eternal  Spirit.  Thus  the  man  who 
perceives  in  his  own  soul,  the  supreme  soul,  present  in  aU 
creatures,  acquires  equanimity  towards  them  all,  and  shall  be 
absorbed  at  last  in  the  highest  essence." 

In  the  Purusha-siikta  of  the  Rig-veda,  which  is  one  of  the 
later  hymns,  —  probably  not  much  earlier  than  the  earliest 
Brahmana,  —  the  one  Spirit  is  called  Purusha.  The  more 
common  name  is  Atman  or  Paratman,  and  in  the  later  system 
Brahman,  neut.  (nom.  Brahma),  derived  from  root  brih,  to 
expand,  and  denoting  the  universally  expanding  essence  or 
universally  diffused  substance  of   the  universe.     It  was  thus 


VEDIC   HYMNS.  l9tS 

that  the  later  creed  became  not  so  much  monotheistic  (by 
which  I  mean  the  belief  in  one  God  regarded  as  a  personal 
Being  external  to  the  universe,  though  creating  and  governing 
it)  as  pantheistic  :  Brahman  is  the  neuter  being,  "  simple  infi- 
nite being,"  —  the  only  real  eternal  essence, — which,  when  it 
passes  into  universal  manifested  existence,  is  called  Brahma  ; 
when  it  manifests  itself  on  the  earth,  is  called  Vishnu  ;  and 
when  it  again  dissolves  itself  into  simple  being,  is  called  Siva ; 
all  the  other  innumerable  gods  and  demigods  being  also  mere 
manifestations  of  the  neuter  Brahman,  who  alone  is  eternal. 
This,  at  any  rate,  appears  to  be  the  genuine  pantheistic  creed 
of  India  at  the  present  day. 

To  return  to  the  Vedic  hymns  —  perhaps  the  most  ancient 
and  beautiful  Vedic  deification  was  that  of  Dyaus,  the  sky,  as 
Dyaush-pitar,  "  Heavenly  Father  "  (the  Zeus  or  Jupiter  of  the 
Greeks  and  Romans).  Then  closely  connected  with  Dyaus 
was  a  goddess,  Aditi,  "  the  Infinite  Expanse,"  conceived  of  sub- 
sequently as  the  mother  of  all  the  gods.  Next  came  a  devel- 
opment of  the  same  conception  called  Varuna,  "  the  Investing 
Sky,"  said  to  answer  to  Ahura  Mazda,  the  Ormazd  of  the 
ancient  Persian  mythology,  and  to  the  Greek  Ouranos  —  but  a 
more  spiritual  conception,  leading  to  a  worship  which  rose  to 
the  nature  of  a  belief  in  the  great  Our-Father-who-art-in- 
Heaven.  This  Varuna,  again,  was  soon  thought  of  in  connec- 
tion with  another  vague  personification  called  Mitra  ( =  the 
Persian  Mithra),  god  of  day.  After  a  time  these  impersona- 
tions of  the  celestial  sphere  were  felt  to  be  too  vague  to  suit 
the  growth  of  religious  ideas  in  ordinary  minds.  Soon,  there- 
fore, the  great  investing  firmament  resolved  itself  into  separate 
cosmical  entities  with  separate  powers  and  attributes.  First, 
the  watery  atmosphere,  personified  under  the  name  of  Indra, 
ever  seeking  to  dispense  his  dewy  treasures  (indu)^  though 
ever  restrained  by  an  opposing  force  or  spirit  of  evil  called 
Vritra  ;  and,  secondly,  the  wind,  thought  of  either  as  a  single 
personality  named  Vagu,  or  as  a  whole  assemblage  of  moving 
powers  coming  from  every  quarter  of  the  compass,  and  imper- 
sonated as  Maruts  or  "  Storm-gods."  At  the  same  time  in  this 
process  of  decentralization  —  if  I  may  use  the  term  —  the  once 
purely  celestial  Varuna  became  relegated  to  a  position  among 
seven  secondary  deities  of  the  heavenly  sphere  called  Adityas 
(afterwards  increased  to  twelve,  and  regarded  as  diversified 
forma  of  the  sun  in  the  several  months  of  the  year),  and  sub- 


196  VEDIC   HYMNS. 

eequently  to  a  dominion  over  the  waters  when  they  had  left 
the  air  and  rested  on  the  earth. 

Of  these  separately  deified  physical  forces,  by  far  the  most 
favorite  object  of  adoration  was  the  deity  supposed  to  yield  the 
dew  and  rain,  longed  for  by  Eastern  cultivators  of  the  soil  with 
even  greater  cravings  than  by  Northern  agriculturists.  Indra, 
therefore,  —  the  Jupiter  Pluvius  of  early  Indian  mythology,  — is 
undoubtedly  the  principal  divinity  of  Vedic  worsliipers,  in  so  far 
at  least  as  the  greater  number  of  their  prayers  and  hymns  are 
addressed  to  him. 

What,  however,  could  rain  effect  without  the  aid  of  heat  ? 
a  force,  the  intensity  of  which  must  have  impressed  an  Indian 
mind  with  awe,  and  led  him  to  invest  the  possessor  of  it  with 
divine  attributes.  Hence  the  other  great  god  of  Vedic  wor- 
shipers, and  in  some  respects  the  most  important  in  his  connec- 
tion with  sacrificial  rites,  is  Agni  (Latin  Ignis),  the  god  of  fire. 
Even  Siirya,  the  sun  (Greek  Helios),  who  was  probably  at  first 
adored  as  the  original  source  of  heat,  came  to  be  regarded  as  only 
another  form  of  fire.  He  was  merely  a  manifestation  of  the 
same  divine  energy  removed  to  the  heavens  and  consequently 
less  accessible.  Another  deity,  Ushas,  goddess  of  the  dawn,  — 
the  Eos  of  the  Greeks,  —  was  naturally  connected  with  the  sun, 
and  regarded  as  daughter  of  the  sky.  Two  other  deities,  the 
AQvins,  were  fabled  as  connected  with  Ushas,  as  ever  young 
and  handsome,  traveling  in  a  golden  car,  and  precursors  of  the 
dawn.  They  are  sometimes  called  Dasras,  as  divine  physicians, 
destroyers  of  diseases;  sometimes  Uasatyas,  as  "never  untrue." 
They  appear  to  have  been  personifications  of  two  luminous  rays 
imagined  to  precede  the  break  of  day.  These,  with  Yama,  "  the 
God  of  departed  spirits,"  are  the  principal  deities  of  the  Mantra 
portion  of  the  Veda. 

We  find,  therefore,  no  trace  in  the  Mantras  of  the  Trimurti 
or  Triad  of  deities  (Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva),  afterwards  so 
popular.  Nor  does  the  doctrine  of  transmigration,  afterwards 
an  essential  element  of  the  Hindu  religion,  appear  in  the  Mantra 
portion  of  the  Veda,  though  there  is  a  clear  declaration  of  it 
in  the  Aranyaka  of  the  Aitareya  Brahmana.  Nor  is  caste  clearly 
alluded  to,  except  in  the  later  Purusha-sakta. 

But  here  it  may  be  asked,  if  sky,  air,  water,  fire,  and  the  sun 
were  thus  worshiped  as  manifestations  of  the  supreme  universal 
God  of  the  universe,  was  not  the  earth  also  an  object  of  adora- 
tion with  the  early  Hindus  ?     And  unquestionably  in  the  earlier 


VEDIC  HYMNS.  '      ,  "       197 

system  the  earth,  under  the  name  of  Prithivi,  "  the  broad  one," 
does  receive  divine  honors,  being  thought  of  as  the  mother  of  all 
beings.  Moreover,  various  deities  were  regarded  as  the  progeny- 
resulting  from  the  fancied  union  of  earth  with  Dyaus,  heaven. 
This  imaginary  marriage  of  heaven  and  earth  was  indeed  a  most 
natural  idea,  and  much  of  the  later  mythology  may  be  explained 
by  it.  But  it  is  remarkable  that  as  religious  worship  became 
of  a  more  selfish  character,  the  earth,  being  more  evidently 
under  man's  control,  and  not  seeming  to  need  propitiation  so 
urgently  as  the  more  uncertain  air,  fire,  and  water,  lost  impor- 
tance among  the  gods,  and  was  rarely  addressed  in  prayer  or 
hymn. 

In  all  probability  the  deified  forces  addressed  in  the  hymns 
were  not  represented  by  images  or  idols  in  the  Vedic  period, 
though  doubtless  the  early  worshipers  clothed  their  gods  with 
human  form  in  their  own  imaginations. 

I  now  begin  my  examples  with  a  nearly  literal  translation 
of  the  well-known  sixteenth  hymn  of  the  fourth  book  of  the 
Atharva-veda,  in  praise  of  Varuna  or  the  Investing  Sky  :  — 

HYMN  TO  THE  INVESTING   SKY. 

The  mighty  Varuna,  who  rules  above,  looks  down 

Upon  these  worlds,  his  kingdom,  as  if  close  at  hand. 

When  men  imagine  they  do  aught  by  stealth,  he  knows  it. 

No  one  can  stand  or  walk  or  softly  glide  along 

Or  hide  in  dark  recess,  or  lurk  in  secret  cell, 

But  Varuna  detects  him  and  his  movements  spies. 

Two  persons  may  devise  some  plot,  together  sitting 

In  private  and  alone ;  but  he,  the  king,  is  there  — 

A  third  —  and  sees  it  all.     This  boundless  earth  is  his, 

His  the  vast  sky,  whose  depth  no  mortal  e'er  can  fathom. 

Both  oceans  [air  and  sea]  find  a  place  within  his  body,  yet 

In  that  small  pool  he  lies  contained.     Whoe'er  should  flee 

Far,  far  beyond  the  sky,  would  not  escape  the  grasp 

Of  Varuna,  the  king.     His  messengers  descend 

Countless  from  his  abode  —  forever  traversing 

This  world  and  scanning  with  a  thousand  eyes  its  inmates. 

Whate'er  exists  within  this  earth,  and  all  within  the  sky, 

Yea,  all  that  is  beyond,  King  Varuna  perceives. 

The  winking  of  men's  eyes  are  numbered  all  by  him. 

He  wields  the  universe,  as  gamesters  handle  dice. 

May  thy  destroying  snares  cast  sevenfold  round  the  wicked, 

Entangle  liars,  but  the  truthful  spare,  0  king ! 


198  VEDIC   HYMNS. 

I  pass  from  the  ancient  Aryan  deity  Varuna  to  the  more 
thoroughly  Indian  god  Indra. 

The  following  metrical  lines  bring  together  various  scattered 
texts  relating  to  this  Hindu  Jupiter  Pluvius :  — 

TO   THE   RAIN   GOD. 

Indra,  twin  brother  of  the  god  of  fire, 

When  thou  wast  born,  thy  mother  Aditi 

Gave  thee,  her  lusty  child,  the  thrilling  draught 

Of  mountain-growing  Soma —  source  of  life 

And  never-dying  vigor  to  thy  frame. 

Then  at  the  Thunderer's  birth,  appalled  with  fear, 

Dreading  the  hundred-jointed  thunderbolt  — 

Forged  by  the  cunning  Trastivri  —  mountain  rocked, 

Earth  shook,  and  heaven  trembled.     Thou  wast  born 

Without  a  rival,  king  of  gods  and  men  — 

The  eye  of  living  and  terrestrial  things. 

Immortal  Indra,  unrelenting  foe 

Of  drought  and  darkness,  infinitely  wisf 

Terrific  crusher  of  thy  enemies. 

Heroic,  irresistible  in  might. 

Wall  of  defense  to  us  thy  worshipers, 

We  sing  thy  praises,  and  our  ardent  hymns 

Embrace  thee,  as  a  loving  wife  her  lord. 

Thou  art  our  guardian,  advocate,  and  friend, 

A  brother,  father,  mother,  all  combined. 

Most  fatherly  of  fathers,  we  are  thine, 

And  thou  art  ours ;  oh  !  let  thy  pitying  soid 

Turn  to  us  in  compassion,  when  we  praise  thee, 

And  slay  us  not  for  one  sin  or  for  many. 

Deliver  us  to-day,  to-morrow,  every  day. 

Armed  for  the  conflict,  see!  the  demons  come  — 

Ahi  and  Vritra  and  a  long  array 

Of  darksome  spirits.     Quick,  then,  quaff  the  draught 

That  stimulates  thy  martial  energy. 

And  dashing  onward  in  thy  goldei  car. 

Drawn  by  thy  ruddy,  Ribhu-fashioned  steeds, 

Speed  to  the  charge,  escorted  by  the  Maruts. 

Vainly  the  demons  dare  thy  might ;  in  vain 

Strive  to  deprive  us  of  thy  watery  treasures. 

Earth  quakes  beneath  the  crashing  of  thy  bolts. 

Pierced,  shattered,  lies  the  foe  —  his  cities  crushed 

His  armies  overthrown,  his  fortresses 

Shivered  to  fragments;  then  the  pent-up  waters. 


VEDIC   HYMNS.  199 

Released  from  long  imprisonment,  descend 
In  torrents  to  the  earth,  and  swollen  rivers, 
Foaming  and  rolling  to  their  ocean  home. 
Proclaim  the  triumph  of  the  Thunderer. 

Let  us  proceed  next  to  the  all-important  Vedic  deity  Agni, 
*'  god  of  fire,"  especially  of  sacrificial  fire.  I  propose  now  to 
paraphrase  a  few  of  the  texts  which  relate  to  him  :  — 

TO   THE   FIRE   GOD. 

Agni,  thou  art  a  sage,  a  priest,  a  king. 

Protector,  father  of  the  sacrifice. 

Commissioned  by  us  men  thou  dost  ascend 

A  messenger,  conveying  to  the  sky 

Our  hymns  and  offerings.     Though  thy  origin 

Be  threefold,  now  from  air  and  now  from  water, 

Now  from  the  mystic  double  Arani, 

Thou  art  thyself  a  mighty  god,  a  lord, 

Giver  of  life  and  immortality, 

One  in  thy  essence,  but  to  mortals  three ; 

Displaying  thine  eternal  triple  form, 

As  fire  on  earth,  as  lightning  in  the  air, 

As  sun  in  heaven.     Thou  art  a  cherished  guest 

In  every  household  —  father,  brother,  son, 

Friend,  benefactor,  guardian,  all  in  one. 

Bright,  seven-rayed  god !  how  manifold  thy  shapes 

Revealed  to  us  thy  votaries !  now  we  see  thee. 

With  body  all  of  gold,  and  radiant  hair. 

Flaming  from  three  terrific  heads,  and  mouths 

Whose  burning  jaws  and  teeth  devour  all  things. 

Now  with  a  thousand  glowing  horns,  and  now 

Flashing  thy  luster  from  a  thousand  eyes, 

Thou'rt  borne  towards  us  in  a  golden  chariot, 

Impelled  by  winds,  and  drawn  by  ruddy  steeds. 

Marking  thy  car's  destructive  course  with  blackness. 

Deliver,  mighty  lord,  thy  worshipers. 

Purge  us  from  taint  of  sin,  and  when  we  die, 

Deal  mercifully  with  us  on  the  pyre. 

Burning  our  bodies  with  their  load  of  guilt, 

But  bearing  our  eternal  part  on  high 

To  luminous  abodes  and  realms  of  bliss. 

Forever  there  to  dwell  with  righteous  men. 

The  next  deity  is  Siirya,  the  sun,  who,  with  reference  to  the 
variety  of  his  functions,  has  various  names,  —  such  as  Savitri, 


200  VEDIC   HYMNS. 

Aryaman,  Mitra,  Varuna,  Pushan,  sometimes  ranking  as  dis- 
tinct deities  of  the  celestial  sphere.  As  already  explained,  he 
is  associated  in  the  minds  of  Vedic  worshipers  with  Fire,  and 
is  frequently  described  as  sitting  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  seven 
ruddy  horses  (representing  the  seven  days  of  the  week),  pre- 
ceded by  the  Dawn.  Here  is  an  example  of  a  hymn  addressed 
to  this  deity,  translated  almost  literally :  — 

HYMN  TO  THE  SUN. 

Behold  the  rays  of  dawn,  like  heralds,  lead  on  high 

The  sun,  that  men  may  see  the  great  all-knowing  god. 

The  stars  slink  off  like  thieves,  in  company  with  Night, 

Before  the  all-seeing  eye,  whose  beams  reveal  his  presence, 

Gleaming  like  brilliant  flames,  to  nation  after  nation. 

With  speed  beyond  the  ken  of  mortals,  thou,  0  Sun, 

Dost  ever  travel  on,  conspicuous  to  all. 

Thou  dost  create  the  light,  and  with  it  dost  illume 

The  universe  entire;  thou  risest  in  the  sight 

Of  all  the  race  of  men,  and  all  the  host  of  heaven. 

Light-giving  Varuna!  thy  piercing  glance  doth  scan 

in  quick  succession  all  this  stirring,  active  world, 

And  penetrateth,  too,  the  broad  ethereal  space. 

Measuring  our  days  and  nights  and  spying  out  all  creatures. 

Surya  with  flaming  locks,  clear-sighted,  god  of  day, 

Thy  seven  ruddy  mares  bear  on  thy  rushing  car. 

With  these  thy  self-yoked  steeds,  seven  daughters  of  thy 

chariot. 
Onward  thou  dost  advance.     To  thy  refulgent  orb 
Beyond  this  lower  gloom  and  upward  to  the  light 
Would  we  ascend,  O  Sun,  thou  god  among  the  gods. 

As  an  accompaniment  to  this  hymn  may  here  be  mentioned 
the  celebrated  Gayatri.  It  is  a  short  prayer  to  the  Sun  in  his 
character  of  Savitri  or  the  Vivifier,  and  is  the  most  sacred  of 
all  Vedic  texts.  Though  not  always  understood,  it  is  to  this 
very  day  used  by  every  Brahman  throughout  India  in  his  daily 
devotions.  It  occurs  in  the  Rig-veda,  and  can  be  literally 
translated  as  follows  :  — 

"Let  us  meditate  [or,  We  meditate]  on  that  excellent 
glory  of  the  divine  Vivifier.  May  he  enlighten  [or,  stimulate] 
our  understandings." 

May  we  not  conjecture,  with  Sir  William  Jones,  that  the 
great  veneration  in  which  this  text  has  ever  been  held  by  the 


VEDIC   HYMNS.  201 

Hindus  from  time  immemorial,  indicates  that  the  more  enlight- 
ened worshipers  adored,  under  the  type  of  the  visible  sun,  that 
divine  light  which  alone  could  illumine  their  intellects  ? 

I  may  here  also  fitly  offer  a  short  paraphrase  descriptive  of 
the  Vedic  Ushas,  the  Greek  Eos,  or  Dawn  :  — 

HYMN   TO   THE  DAWN. 

Hail,  ruddy  Ushas,  golden  goddess,  borne 
Upon  thy  shining  car,  thou  comest  like 
A  lovely  maiden  by  her  mother  decked, 
Disclosing  coyly  all  thy  hidden  graces 
To  our  admiring  eyes ;  or  like  a  wife 
Unveiling  to  her  lord,  with  conscious  pride, 
Beauties  which,  as  he  gazes  lovingly. 
Seem  fresher,  fairer,  each  succeeding  mom. 
Through  years  on  years  thou  hast  lived  on,  and  yet 
Thou'rt  ever  young.     Thou  art  the  breath  and  life 
Of  all  that  breathes  and  lives,  awaking  day  by  day 
Myriads  of  prostrate  sleepers,  as  from  death, 
Causing  the  birds  to  flutter  from  their  nests, 
And  rousing  men  to  ply  with  busy  feet 
Their  daily  duties  and  appointed  tasks, 
Toiling  for  wealth,  or  pleasure,  or  renoANm. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  the  Vedic  deities,  I  add  a  few 
words  about  Yama,  the  god  of  departed  spirits.  It  appears 
tolerably  certain  that  the  doctrine  of  metempsychosis  has  no 
place  in  the  Mantra  portion  of  the  Veda ;  nor  do  the  authors 
of  the  hymns  evince  any  sympathy  Avith  the  desire  to  get  rid  of 
all  action  and  personal  existence,  Avhich  became  so  remarkable 
a  feature  of  the  theology  and  philosophy  of  the  Brahmans  in 
later  times.  But  there  are  many  indirect  references  to  the 
immortality  of  man's  spirit  and  a  future  life,  and  these  become 
more  marked  and  decided  towards  the  end  of  the  Rig-veda. 
One  of  the  hymns  in  the  last  Mandala  is  addressed  to  the 
Pitris  or  fathers,  that  is  to  say,  the  spirits  of  departed  ances- 
tors who  have  attained  to  a  state  of  heavenly  bliss,  and  are 
supposed  to  occupy  three  different  stages  of  blessedness  ;  the 
highest  inhabiting  the  upper  sky,  the  middle  the  intermediate 
air,  and  the  lowest  the  regions  of  the  atmosphere  near  the  earth. 
Reverence  and  adoration  are  always  to  be  offered  them,  and  they 
are  presided  over  by  the  god  Yama,  the  ruler  of  all  the  spirits 
of  the  dead,  whether  good  or  bad.     The  earlier  legends  repre- 


202  VEDIC    HYMNS. 

sent  this  god  as  a  kind  of  first  man  (his  twin  sister  being  Yami), 
and  also  as  the  first  of  men  that  died.  Hence  he  is  described 
as  guiding  the  spirits  of  other  men  who  die,  to  the  same  world. 
In  some  passages,  however,  Death  is  said  to  be  his  messenger, 
he  himself  dwelling  in  celestial  light,  to  which  the  departed 
are  brouglit,  and  where  they  enjoy  his  society  and  that  of  the 
fathers.  In  the  Veda  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  judging  or 
punishing  the  departed  (as  in  the  later  mythology),  but  he  has 
two  terrific  dogs,  with  four  eyes,  which  guard  the  way  to  his 
abode.  Here  are  a  few  thoughts  about  him  from  various  hymns 
in  the  tenth  Mandala  of  the  Rig-veda  :  — 

HYMN  TO   DEATH. 

To  Yama,  mighty  king,  be  gifts  and  homage  paid. 
He  was  the  first  of  men  that  died,  the  first  to  brave 
Death's  rapid,  rushing  stream,  the  first  to  point  the  road 
To  heaven,  and  welcome  others  to  that  bright  abode. 
No  power  can  rob  us  of  the  home  thus  won  by  thee. 
O  king,  we  come ;  the  born  must  die,  must  tread  the  path 
That  thou  hast  trod  —  the  path  by  which  each  race  of  men, 
In  long  succession,  and  our  fathers  too,  have  passed. 
Soul  of  the  dead !  depart ;  fear  not  to  take  the  road  — 
The  ancient  road  —  by  which  thy  ancestors  have  gone ; 
Ascend  to  meet  the  god  —  to  meet  thy  happy  fathers, 
Who  dwell  in  bliss  with  him.     Fear  not  to  pass  the  guards  — 
The  four-eyed  brindled  dogs  —  that  Avatch  for  the  departed. 
Keturn  unto  thy  home,  0  soul !     Thy  sin  and  shame 
Leave  thou  behind  on  earth  ;  assume  a  shining  form  — 
Thy  ancient  shape  —  refined  and  from  all  taint  set  free. 

Let  me  now  endeavor,  by  slightly  amplified  translations,  to 
convey  some  idea  of  two  of  the  most  remarkable  hymns  in  the 
Rig-veda.  The  first,  which  may  be  compared  with  some  parts 
of  the  thirty-eighth  chapter  of  Job,  attempts  to  describe  the 
mystery  of  creation,  thus  :  — 

THE  MYSTERY   OF   CREATION. 

In  the  beginning  there  was  neither  naught  nor  aught ; 
Then  there  was  neither  sky  nor  atmosphere  above. 
What  then  enshrouded  all  this  teeming  Universe  ? 
In  the  receptacle  of  what  was  it  contained  ? 
Was  it  enveloped  in  the  gulf  profound  of  water  ? 
Then  was  there  neither  death  nor  immortality, 


VEDIC    HYMNS.  203 

Then  was  there  neither  day,  nor  night,  nor  light,  nor  darkness, 
Only  the  existent  One  breathed  calmly,  self-contained. 
Naught  else  than  him  there  was  —  naught  else  above,  beyond. 
Then  first  came  darkness  hid  in  darkness,  gloom  in  gloom. 
Next  all  was  water,  all  a  chaos  indiscrete. 
In  which  the  One  lay  void,  shrouded  in  nothingness. 
Then  turning  inwards,  he  by  self-developed  force 
Of  inner  fervor  and  intense  abstraction,  grew. 
And  now  in  him  Desire,  the  primal  germ  of  mind, 
Arose,  which  learned  men,  profoundly  searching,  say 
Is  the  first  subtle  bond,  connecting  Entity 
With  Nullity.     This  ray  that  kindled  dormant  life, 
Where  was  it  then  ?  before  ?  or  was  it  found  above  ? 
Were  there  parturient  powers  and  latent  qualities, 
And  fecund  principles  beneath,  and  active  forces 
That  energized  aloft  ?     Who  knows  ?     Who  can  declare? 
How  and  from  what  has  sprung  this  Universe  ?  the  gods 
Themselves  are  subsequent  to  its  development. 
Who  then  can  penetrate  the  secret  of  its  rise  ? 
.    Whether  'twas  framed  or  not,  made  or  not  made,  he  only 
Who  in  the  highest  heaven  sits,  the  omniscient  lord, 
Assuredly  knows  all,  or  haply  knows  he  not. 

The  next  example  is  from  the  first  Mandala  of  the  Rig-veda. 
Like  the  preceding,  it  furnishes  a  good  argument  for  those  who 
maintain  that  the  purer  faith  of  the  Hindus  is  properly  mono- 
theistic. 

THE   ONE   GOD. 

What  god  shall  we  adore  with  sacrifice  ? 
Him  let  us  praise,  the  golden  child  that  rose 
In  the  beginning,  who  was  born  the  lord  — 
The  one  sole  lord  of  all  that  is  —  who  made 
The  earth,  and  formed  the  sky,  who  giveth  life, 
Who  giveth  strength,  whose  bidding  gods  revere. 
Whose  hiding  place  is  immortality. 
Whose  shadow,  death ;  who  by  his  might  is  king 
Of  all  the  breathing,  sleeping,  waking  world  — 
Who  governs  men  and  beasts,  whose  majesty 
These  snowy  hills,  this  ocean  with  its  rivers, 
Declare ;  of  whom  these  spreading  regions  form 
The  arms ;  by  whom  the  firmament  is  strong. 
Earth  firmly  planted,  and  the  highest  heavens 
Supported,  and  the  clouds  that  fill  the  air 
Distributed  and  measured  out ;  to  whom 
Both  earth  and  heaven,  established  by  his  will, 


204  VEDIC   HYMNS. 

Look  up  with  trembling  mind ;  in  whom  revealed 

The  rising  sun  shines  forth  above  the  world. 

Where'er  let  loose  in  space,  the  mighty  waters 

Have  gone,  depositing  a  fruitful  seed. 

And  generating  fire,  there  he  arose, 

Who  is  the  breath  and  life  of  all  the  gods, 

Whose  mighty  glance  looks  round  the  vast  expanse 

Of  watery  vapor  —  source  of  energy. 

Cause  of  the  sacrifice  —  the  only  God 

Above  the  gods.     May  he  not  injure  us! 

He  the  Creator  of  the  earth  —  the  righteous 

Creator  of  the  sky,  Creator  too 

Of  oceans  bright,  and  far-extending  waters. 

Let  me  now  give  a  few  verses  (not  in  regular  order  and  not 
quite  literally  translated)  from  the  celebrated  Purusha-siikta, 
oiie  of  the  most  recent  hymns  of  the  Rig-veda.  It  will  serve 
to  illustrate  the  gradual  sliding  of  Hindu  monotheism  into 
pantheism,  and  the  first  foreshadowing  of  the  institution  of 
caste,  which  for  so  many  centuries  has  held  India  in  bond- 
age:— 

The  embodied  spirit  has  a  thousand  heads, 

A  thousand  eyes,  a  thousand  feet  around, 

On  every  side  enveloping  the  earth. 

Yet  filling  space  no  larger  than  a  span. 

He  is  himself  this  very  universe, 

He  is  whatever  is,  has  been,  and  shall  be. 

He  is  the  lord  of  immortality. 

All  creatures  are  one  fourth  of  him,  three  fourths 

Are  that  which  is  immortal  in  the  sky. 

From  him  called  Purusha,  was  born  Viraj, 

And  from  Viraj  was  Purusha  produced. 

Whom  gods  and  holy  men  made  their  oblation. 

With  Purusha  as  victim  they  performed 

A  sacrifice.     When  they  divided  him. 

How  did  they  cut  him  up  ?  what  was  his  mouth  ? 

What  were  his  arms  ?     And  what  his  thighs  and  feet  ? 

The  Brahman  was  his  mouth,  the  kingly  soldier 

Was  made  his  arms,  the  husbandman  his  thighs, 

The  servile  Sudra  issued  from  his  feet. 

I  close  my  examples  of  the  Mantras  with  slightly  amplified 
versions  of  two  hymns  —  one  in  praise  of  Time,  personified  as 
the  source  of  all  things,  taken  from  the  Atharva-veda ;  the 
other  addressed  to  Night,  from  the  Rig-veda. 


VEDIC   HYMNS.  205 

Hymn  to  Time. 

Time,  like  a  brilliant  steed  with  seven  rays, 

And  with  a  thousand  eyes,  imperishable, 

Full  of  fecundity,  bears  all  things  onward. 

On  him  ascend  the  learned  and  the  wise. 

Time,  like  a  seven-wheeled,  seven-naved  car,  moves  on. 

His  rolling  wheels  are  all  the  worlds,  his  axle 

Is  immortality.     He  is  the  first  of  gods. 

We  see  him  like  an  overflowing  jar; 

We  see  him  multiplied  in  various  forms. 

He  draws  forth  and  encompasses  the  worlds; 

He  is  all  future  worlds  ;  he  is  their  father ; 

He  is  their  son ;  there  is  no  power  like  him. 

The  past  and  future  issue  out  of  Time, 

All  sacred  knowledge  and  austerity. 

From  Time  the  earth  and  waters  were  produced ; 

From  Time,  the  rising,  setting,  burning  sun ; 

From  Time,  the  wind ;  through  Time  the  earth  is  vast 

Through  Time  the  eye  perceives ;  mind,  breath,  and  name 

In  him  are  comprehended.     All  rejoice 

When  Time  arrives  —  the  monarch  who  has  conquered 

This  world,  the  highest  world,  the  holy  worlds. 

Yea,  all  the  worlds  —  and  ever  marches  on. 

The  hymn  to  Night  is  my  last  example.     It  is  taken  from 
the  tenth  Mandala  of  the  Rig-veda  :  — 

Hymn  to  Night. 

The  goddess  Night  arrives  in  all  her  glory, 
Looking  about  her  with  her  countless  eyes. 
She,  the  immortal  goddess,  throws  her  veil 
*"'  Over  low  valley,  rising  ground,  and  hill. 

But  soon  with  bright  effulgence  dissipates 
The  darkness  she  produces ;  soon  advancing, 
She  calls  her  sister  Morning  to  return, 
And  then  each  darksome  shadow  melts  away. 
Kind  goddess,  be  propitious  to  thy  servants 
Who  at  thy  coming  straightway  seek  repose, 
Like  birds  who  nightly  nestle  in  the  trees. 
Lo !  men  and  cattle,  flocks  and  winged  creatures, 
And  e'en  the  ravenous  hawks,  have  gone  to  rest. 
Drive  thou  away  from  us,  O  Night,  the  wolf ; 
Drive  thou  away  the  thief,  and  bear  us  safely 
Across  thy  borders.     Then  do  thou,  0  Dawn, 
Like  one  who  clears  away  a  debt,  chase  off 


206  LEX  TALIONIS. 

This  black  yet  palpable  obscurity, 
Which  came  to  fold  us  in  its  close  embrace. 
Receive,  0  Night,  dark  daughter  of  the  Day, 
My  hymn  of  praise,  which  I  present  to  thee, 
Like  some  rich  offering  to  a  conqueror. 

LEX   TALIONIS. 
Dasaratha  declares  his  Bereavement  a  Punishment. 

(From  the  Ramayaiia :  translated  by  Sir  Monier  Monier- Williams.) 

One  day  when  rains  refreshed  the  earth,  and  caused  my  heart  to 

swell  with  joy ; 
When,  after  scorching  with  his  rays  the  parched  ground,  the  summer 

sun 
Had  passed  towards  the  south ;  when  cooling  breezes  chased  away 

the  heat 
And  grateful  clouds  arose ;  when  frogs  and  peafowl  sported,  and  the 

deer 
Seemed  drunk  with  glee,  and  all  the  winged  creation,  dripping  as  if 

drowned, 
Plumed  their  dank  feathers  on  the  tops  of  wind-rocked  trees,  and 

falling  showers 
Covered  the  mountains  till  they  looked  like  watery  heaps,  and  tor- 
rents poured 
Down  from  their  sides,  filled  with  loose  stones  and  red  as  dawn  with 

mineral  earth. 
Winding  like   serpents   in   their  course; — then,  at  that  charming 

season,  I, 
Longing  to  breathe  the  air,  went  forth,  with  bow  and  arrow  in  iny 

hand. 
To  seek  for  game,  if  haply  by  the  riverside  a  buffalo. 
An  elephant,  or  other  animal  miglit  cross  at  eve  my  path. 
Coming  to  drink.     Then  in  the  dusk  I  heard  the  sound  of  gurgling 

water ; 
Quickly  I  took  my  bow,  and  aiming  toward  the  sound,  shot  off  the 

dart. 
A  cry  of  mortal  agony  came  from  the  spot,  —  a  human  voice 
Was  heard,  and  a  poor  hermit's  son  fell  pierced  and  bleeding  in  the 

stream. 
"  Ah !  wherefore  then,"  he  cried,  "  am  I,  a  harmless  hermit's  son, 

struck  down  ? 


LEX  TALIONIS.  207 

Hither  to  this  lone  brook  I  came  at  eve  to  fill  my  water  jar. 

By  whom  have  I  been  smitten  ?    Whom  have  I  offended  ?     Oh !  I 

grieve  i  ir    j 

Not  for  myself  or  my  own  fate,  but  for  my  parents,  old  and  blind, 
Who  perish  in  my  death.     Ah  !  what  will  be  the  end  of  that  loved 

T)3/ir 
Long  guided  and  supported  by  my  hand?    This  barbed  dart  hath 

pierced 
Both  me  and  them."     Hearing  that  piteous  voice,  I,  Dasaratha, 
Who  meant  no  harm  to  any  human  creature,  young  or  old,  became 
Palsied  with  fear ;  my  bow  and  arrows  dropped  from  my  senseless 

hands ; 
And  I  approached  the  place  in  horror;  there  with  dismay  I  saw 
Stretched  on  the  bank  an  innocent  hermit  boy,  writhing  in  pain  and 

With  dust  and  blood,  his  knotted  hair  disheveled,  and  a  broken  jar 
Lying  beside  him.     I  stood  petrified  and  speechless.     He  on  me 
Fixed  full  his  eyes;  and  then,  as  if  to  burn  my  inmost  soul,  he 

"How  have   I  wronged  thee,  monarch?   that  thy  cruel   hand   has 

smitten  me, — 
Me,  a  poor  hermit's  son,  born  in  the  forest :  father,  mother,  child 
Hast  thou  transfixed  with  this  one  arrow :  they,  my  parents,  sit  at 

home, 
Expecting  my  return,  and  long  will  cherish  hope  — a  prey  to  thirst 
And  agonizing  fears.     Go  to  my  father  —  tell  him  of  my  fate. 
Lest  his  dread  curse  consume  thee,  as  the  flame  devours  the  withered 

wood. 
But  first  in  pity  draw  thou  forth  the  shaft  that  pierces  to  my  heart 
And  checks  the  gushing  lifeblood,  as  the  bank  obstructs  the  bound- 
ing stream ! "  •  •  v.  j 
He  ceased,  and  as  he  rolled  his  eyes  in  agony,  and  quivering  writhed 
Upon  the  ground,  I  slowly  drew  the  arrow  from  the  poor  boy's  side. 
Distracted  at  the  grievous  crime,  wrought  by  my  hand  unwittingly, 
Sadly  I  thought  within  myself  how  I  might  best  repair  the  wrong, 
Then  took  the  way  he  had  directed  me  towards  the  hermitage. 
There  I  beheld  his  parents,  old  and  blind;  like  two  clipped,  wing- 

Sitting  forlorn,  without  their  guide,  awaiting  his  arrival  anxiously, 
And,  to  b-eguile  their  weariness,  conversing  of  him  tenderly. 
Quickly  they  caught  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  I  heard  the  old 

man  say  r\  •  i 

With  chiding  voice,  "Why  hast  thou  lingered,  child?    Quick,  give 

us  both  to  drink 
A  little  water.    Long  forgetful  of  us,  in  the  cooling  stream 


208  LEX  TALIONIS. 

Hast  thou  disported ;  come  in,  for  thy  mother  yearneth  for  her  son. 
If  she  or  I  in  aught  have  caused  thee  pain,  or  spoken  hasty  words. 
Think  on  thy  hermit's  duty  of  forgiveness  ;  bear  them  not  in  mind. 
Thou  art  the  refuge  of  us  ref ugeless  —  the  eyes  of  thy  blind  sire. 
Why  art  thou  silent  ?     Speak !     Bound  up   in  thee  are  both   thy 

parents'  lives." 
He  ceased,  and  I  stood  paralyzed  —  till  by  an  effort  resolutely 
Collecting  all  my  powers  of  utterance,  with  faltering  voice  I  said : — 
"Pious  and  noble  hermit,  I  am  not  thy  son;  I  am  the  king. 
Wandering  with  bow  and  arrow  by  a  stream,  seeking  for  game, 

I  pierced 
Unknowingly  thy  child.     The  rest  I   need  not  tell.     Be  gracious 

to  me." 
Hearing  my  pitiless  words,  announcing  his  bereavement,  he  remained 
Senseless   awhile;   then  drawing  a  deep  sigh,  his  face  all   bathed 

in  tears. 
He  spake  as  I  approached  him  suppliantly,  and  slowly  said  :  — 
"Hadst  thou  not  come  thyself  to  tell  thy  awful  tale,  its  load  of  guilt 
Had  crushed  thy  head  into  ten  thousand  fragments.     This  ill-fated 

deed 
Was  wrought  by  thee  unwittingly,  0   king,  else  hadst  thou   not 

been  spared. 
And  all  the  race  of  Kaghavas  had  perished.     Lead  us  to  the  place ; 
And,  bloody  though  he  be,  and  lifeless,  we  must  look  upon  our  son 
For   the   last  time,  and  clasp  him  in  our   arms."     Then   weeping 

bitterly. 
The  pair,  led  by  my  hand,  came  to  the  spot,  and  fell  upon  their  son. 
Thrilled   by  the   touch,  the  father  cried:   "My  son,  hast  thou   no 

greeting   for  me  ? 
No  word  of  recognition  ?     Why  liest  thou  here  upon  the  ground  ? 
Art  thou  offended  ?     Or  am  I  no  longer  loved  by  thee,  my  son  ? 
See  here  thy  mother.     Thou  wert  ever  dutiful  towards  us  both. 
Why  wilt  thou  not  embrace  me  ?     Speak  one  tender  word.     Whom 

shall  I  hear 
Reading  again  the  sacred  Sastra  in  the  early  morning  hours  ? 
Who  now  will  bring  me  roots  and  fruits  to  feed  me  like  a  cherished 

guest  ? 
How,  weak  and  blind,  can  I  support  thy  aged  mother,  pining  for 

her  son  ? 
Stay !     Go  not  yet  to  Death's   abode  —  stay  with  thy  mother  yet 

one  day: 
To-morrow  we  will  both  go  w^ith  thee  on  the  dreary  way.     Forlorn 
And  sad,  deserted  by  our  child,  without  protector  in  the  wood, 
Soon   shall  we  both  depart  toward  the   mansion  of  the  King  of 

Death." 


LOVE  STRONGER  THAN  DEATH.  209 

Thus  bitterly  lamenting,  he   performed  the  funeral  rites;    then 

turning 
Towards  me,  thus  addressed  me,  standing  reverently  near :  "  I  had 
But  this  one  child,  and  thou  hast  made  me  childless.     Now  strike 

down 
The  father ;  I  shall  feel  no  pain  in  death.     But  thy  requital  be 
That  sorrow  for  a  child  shall  also  bring  thee  one  day  to  the  grave." 


LOVE   STRONGER  THAN   DEATH. 

(From  the  Mahabharata :  translated  by  Protap  Chandra  Roy.) 

There  was  a  king  among  the  Madras  who  was  virtuous  and 
highly  pious.  And  he  was  the  foremost  of  givers,  and  was  abia, 
and  was  beloved  by  both  the  citizens  and  the  rural  population. 
And  the  name  of  that  Lord  of  Earth  was  Agwapati.  And  that 
forgiving  monarch  of  truthful  speech  and  subdued  senses  was 
without  offspring.  And  when  he  got  old,  he  was  stricken  with 
grief  at  this.  And  that  best  of  kings,  daily  offering  ten  thou- 
sand oblations  to  the  Fire,  recited  hymns  in  honor  of  Savitri,  the 
wife  of  Brahma,  and  ate  temperately  at  the  sixth  hour.  And  at 
the  end  of  eighteen  years,  Savitri  appeared  unto  him  and  said:  — 

"  Through  the  favor  granted  by  the  Self -create,  there  shall 
speedily  be  born  unto  thee  a  daughter  of  great  energy.  It 
behooveth  thee  to  make  no  reply.  Well  pleased,  I  tell  thee 
this  at  the  command  of  the  Great  Father !  " 

And  Savitri  vanishing  away,  the  monarch  entered  his  own 
city.  And  when  some  time  had  elajpsed,  that  king  observant 
of  vows  begat  offspring  on  his  eldest  queen  engaged  in  the 
practice  of  virtue. 

And  when  the  time  came,  his  wife  brought  forth  a  daughter 
furnished  with  lotuslike  eyes.  And  as  she  had  been  bestowed 
with  delight  by  the  goddess  Savitri  by  virtue  of  the  oblations 
offered  in  honor  of  that  goddess,  both  her  father  and  the 
Brahmanas  named  her  Savitri. 

And  the  king's  daughter  grew  up  like  unto  Sri  [the  goddess 
of  beauty]  herself  in  embodied  form.  And  in  due  time  that 
damsel  attained  her  puberty. 

And  beholding  that  maiden  of  slender  waist  and  ample  hips, 
and  resembling  a  golden  image,  people  thought :  "  Lo,  we  have 
received  a  goddess  I  " 


210  LOVL   STRONGER  THAN   DEATH. 

And,  overpowered  by  her  energy,  none  could  wed  that  girl 
of  eyes  like  lotus  leaves,  and  possessed  of  a  burning  splendor. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  once  on  the  occasion  of  a  holy  day, 
having  fasted  and  bathed  her  head,  she  presented  herself  before 
the  family  deity,  and  caused  the  Brahmanas  to  offer  oblations 
with  due  rites  before  the  sacrificial  fire.  And  taking  the 
flowers  that  had  been  offered  to  the  god,  that  lady,  beautiful  as 
Sri  herself,  went  to  her  high-souled  sire.  And  having  rever- 
enced the  feet  of  her  father,  that  lady  of  exceeding  grace,  with 
joined  hands,  stood  at  the  side  of  the  king.  And  seeing  his 
own  daughter,  resembling  a  celestial  damsel  and  arrived  at 
puberty,  unsought  by  people,  the  king  became  sad. 

And  the  king  said  :  — 

"  Daughter,  the  time  for  bestowing  thee  is  come  I  Yet  none 
asketh  thee.  Do  thou,  therefore,  thyself  seek  for  a  husband  equal 
to  thee  in  qualities.  That  person  who  may  be  desired  by  thee 
shall  be  notified  to  me  by  thee.  Do  thou  choose  for  thy  hus- 
band as  thou  listest.  Do  thou,  O  auspicious  one,  listen  to  the 
words  I  myself  have  heard  from  the  twice-born  ones :  The 
father  that  doth  not  bestow  his  daughter  cometh  by  disgrace. 
And  the  son  who  doth  not  protect  his  mother  when  her  husband 
is  dead  also  suffereth  disgrace.  Hearing  these  words,  do  thou 
engage  thyself  in  search  of  a  husband.  Do  thou  act  in  such  a 
way  that  we  may  not  be  censured  by  the  gods  I  " 

Having  said  these  words  to  his  daughter  and  his  old  coun- 
selors, he  instructed  the  attendants  to  follow  her,  saying, 
"  Go  !  " 

Thereafter,  bashfully  bowing  even  down  unto  her  father's 
feet,  the  meek  maid  went  out  without  hesitation,  in  compliance 
with  the  words  of  her  sire.  And  ascending  a  golden  car,  she 
went  to  the  delightful  asylums  of  the  royal  sages,  accompanied 
by  her  father's  royal  counselors.  There,  worshiping  the  feet 
of  the  aged  ones,  she  gradually  began  to  roam  over  all  the 
woods.  Thus  the  king's  daughter,  distributing  wealth  in  all 
sacred  regions,  ranged  the  various  places  belonging  to  the 
foremost  of  the  twice-born  ones. 

Now  on  one  occasion,  when  Agwapati,  the  Lord  of  the 
Madras,  was  seated  with  Narada,  the  celestial  sage,  in  the 
midst  of  his  court  enjoyed  in  conversation,  Savitri  returned  to 
her  father's  abode,  after  visiting  various  asylums  and  regions. 

And  beholding  her  father  sitting  with  Narada,  she  wor- 
shiped both  by  bending  down  her  head. 


LOVE   STRONGER   THAN   DEATH.  211 

And  Narada  then  said  :  — 

"  Whither  had  this  thy  daughter  gone  ?  And,  O  king, 
whence  also  doth  she  come  ?  Why  also  dost  thou  not  bestow 
her  on  a  husband,  seeing  that  she  hath  arrived  at  the  age  of 
puberty  ?  " 

Agwapati  answered,  saying  :  — 

"  Surely  it  was  on  this  very  business  that  she  hath  been 
sent,  and  she  returneth  now  from  her  search.  Do  thou,  O 
celestial  sage,  listen,  even  unto  herself,  as  to  the  husband  she 
hath  chosen  for  herself." 

Then  that  blessed  maid  related  everything  in  detail,  as 
commanded  by  her  father  :  — 

"  There  was  amongst  the  Salwas  a  virtuous  Kshatriya  king 
known  by  the  name  of  Dyumatsena.  And  it  came  to  pass 
that  in  the  course  of  time  he  became  blind.  And  that  blind 
king  possessed  of  wisdom  had  an  only  son.  And  it  so  hap- 
pened that  an  old  enemy  dwelling  in  his  neighborhood,  taking 
advantage  of  the  king's  mishap,  deprived  him  of  his  kingdom. 
And,  thereupon,  the  monarch,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  bear- 
ing a  child  on  her  breast,  went  into  the  woods.  And  having 
retired  into  the  forest,  he  adopted  great  vows  and  began  to 
practice  ascetic  austerities.  And  his  son,  born  in  the  city, 
began  to  grow  in  the  hermitage.  That  youth,  fit  to  be  my 
husband,  I  have  accepted  in  my  heart  for  my  lord !  " 

At  these  her  words,  Narada  said  :  — 

"  Alas  !  O  king,  Savitri  hath  committed  a  great  wrong  ; 
since,  not  knowing,  she  hath  accepted  for  her  lord  this  Satyavan 
of  excellent  qualities." 

The  king  then  asked  :  — 

"  But  is  Prince  Satyavan  endued  with  energy  and  intelli- 
gence and  forgiveness  and  courage  ?  " 

Narada  replied,  saying  :  — 

"  In  energy  Satyavan  is  like  unto  the  Sun,  and  in  wisdom 
like  unto  Vrihaspati  !  And  he  is  brave  like  unto  the  Lord  of 
the  Celestials,  and  forgiving  like  unto  the  Earth  herself  !  " 

Agwapati  then  said  :  — 

"  And  is  Prince  Satyavan  liberal  in  gifts  and  devoted  to 
the  Brahmanas  ?  Is  he  handsome  and  magnanimous  and  lovely 
to  behold  ?  " 

Narada  said :  — 

"  In  bestowing  gifts,  according  to  his  power,  he  is  like  unto 
Sankriti's  son  Rantideva.     In  truthfulness  of  speech  and  devo- 


212  LOVE  STRONGER  THAN   DEATH. 

tion  to  the  Brahmanas,  he  is  like  Uginara's  son  Civi.  And  he 
is  magnanimous  like  Yayati,  and  beautiful  like  the  Moon. 
And,  with  senses  under  control,  he  is  meek  and  brave  and 
truthful !  And,  with  passions  in  subjection,  he  is  devoted  to 
his  friends,  and  free  from  malice,  and  modest  and  patient." 

Hearing  this,  Agwapati  said  :  — 

"  O  reverend  sage,  thou  tellest  me  that  he  is  possessed  of 
every  virtue  1  Do  thou  now  tell  me  his  defects,  if,  indeed,  he 
hath  any  !  " 

Narada  then  said :  — 

"  He  hath  one  only  defect,  that  hath  overwhelmed  all  his 
virtues.  That  defect  is  incapable  of  being  conquered  even  by 
the  greatest  efforts.  He  hath  only  one  defect  and  no  other. 
Within  a  year  from  this  day,  Satyavan,  endued  with  a  short 
life,  will  cast  off  his  body  I  " 

Hearing  these  words  of  the  sage,  the  king  said  :  — 

"  Come,  O  Savitri,  go  thou  and  choose  another  for  thy  lord, 
O  beautiful  damsel  I  That  one  great  defect  existing  in  this 
youth  covereth  all  his  merits." 

At  these  words  of  her  father,  Savitri  said  :  — 

"  The  die  can  fall  but  once  ;  a  daughter  can  be  given  away 
but  once;  and  only  once  can  a  person  say,  'I  give  away.' 
These  three  things  can  take  place  only  once  !  Indeed,  with 
a  life  short  or  long,  possessed  of  virtues  or  bereft  of  them,  I 
have  for  once  selected  my  husband.  Twice  I  shall  not  select. 
When  a  thing  is  first  settled  mentally,  it  is  expressed  in  words, 
and  then  it  is  carried  out  into  practice.  Of  this  my  mind  is 
an  example  1  " 

Then  Narada  said :  — 

"  O  best  of  men,  the  heart  of  thy  daughter  wavereth  not ! 
It  is  not  possible  by  any  means  to  make  her  swerve  from  this 
path  of  virtue  1  The  bestowal  of  thy  daughter  is,  therefore, 
approved  by  me." 

The  king  said  :  — 

"  What  thou  hast  said,  O  illustrious  one,  should  never  be 
disobeyed ;  for  thy  words  are  true  !  And  I  shall  act  as  thou 
hast  said,  since  thou  art  my  preceptor  1  " 

Narada  said  :  — 

"May  the  bestowal  of  thy  daughter  Savitri  be  attended 
with  peace  !     I  shall  now  depart.     Blessed  be  all  of  ye !  " 

Having  said  this,  Narada  rose  up  into  the  sky  and  went  to 
heaven.     On  the  other  hand,  the  king  began  to  make  prepara- 


LOVE   STRONGER   THAN   DEATH.  213 

tions  for  his  daughter's  wedding.  And  having  summoned  all 
the  old  Brahmanas  and  priests,  he  set  out  on  an  auspicious  day 
with  his  daughter.  And,  arriving  at  the  asylum  of  Dyumat- 
sena  in  the  sacred  forest,  the  king  approached  the  royal  sage, 
and  after  duly  reverencing  him,  introduced  himself  in  a  humble 
speech.     And  the  monarch  said  to  his  royal  guest :  — 

"  Wherefore  is  this  visit  ?  " 

Thus  addressed,  the  king  disclosed  everything  about  his 
intention  and  purpose  with  reference  to  Satyavan,  saying :  — 

"  O  royal  sage,  this  beautiful  girl  is  my  daughter,  named 
Savitri.  O  thou  versed  in  morality,  do  thou,  agreeably  to  the 
customs  of  our  order,  take  her  from  me  as  thy  daughter-in-law  1  " 

Hearing  these  words,  Dyumatsena  said  :  — 

"Deprived  of  kingdom  and  taking  up  our  abode  in  the 
woods,  we  are  engaged  in  the  practice  of  virtue  as  ascetics  with 
regulated  lives.  Unworthy  of  a  forest  life,  how  will  thy 
daughter,  living  in  the  sylvan  asylum,  bear  this  hardship  ?  " 

Agwapati  said :  — 

"  As  my  daughter  knoweth,  as  well  as  myself,  that  happi- 
ness and  misery  come  and  go,  without  either  being  stationary, 
such  words  as  these  are  not  fit  to  be  used  to  one  like  me.  Thou 
art  my  equal  and  fit  for  an  alliance  with  me,  as,  indeed,  I  am 
thy  equal  and  fit  for  an  alliance  with  thee.  Do  thou,  there- 
fore, accept  my  daughter  for  thy  daughter-in-law  and  the  wife 
of  the  good  Satyavan." 

Hearing  these  words,  Dyumatsena  said  :  — 

"  Formerly  I  had  desired  an  alliance  with  thee.  But  I  hesi- 
tated, being  subsequently  deprived  of  my  kingdom.  Let  this 
wish,  therefore,  that  I  had  formerly  entertained,  be  accom- 
plished this  very  day.  Thou  art,  indeed,  a  very  welcome  guest 
to  me  !  " 

Then  summoning  all  the  twice-born  ones  residing  in  the 
hermitages  of  that  forest,  the  two  kings  caused  the  union  to 
take  place  with  due  rites.  And  having  bestowed  his  daughter 
with  suitable  robes  and  ornaments,  Agwapati  went  back  to  his 
abode  in  great  joy. 

And  Satyavan,  having  obtained  a  wife  possessed  of  every 
accomplishment,  became  highly  glad,  while  she  also  rejoiced, 
having  gained  the  husband  after  her  own  heart.  And  when 
her  father  had  departed,  she  put  off  all  her  ornaments,  and 
clad  herself  in  bark  and  in  clothes  dyed  in  red.  And  by  her 
services  and  virtues,  her  tenderness  and  self-deniaU  and  by  her 


214  LOVE   STRONGER  THAN   DEATH. 

agreeable  offices  unto  all,  she  pleased  everybody.  And  she 
gratified  her  mother-in-law  by  attending  to  her  person  and  by 
covering  her  with  robes  and  ornaments.  And  she  gratified  her 
father-in-law  by  worshiping  him  as  a  god  and  controlling  her 
speech.  And  she  pleased  her  husband  by  her  honeyed  speeches, 
her  skill  in  every  kind  of  work,  the  evenness  of  her  temper,  and 
the  indications  of  her  love  in  private.  And  all  these,  living  in 
the  asylum  of  the  pious  dwellers  of  the  forest,  continued  for 
some  time  to  practice  ascetic  austerities.  But  the  words 
spoken  by  Narada  were  present  night  and  day  to  the  mind  of 
the  sorrowful  Savitri. 

At  length  the  hour  appointed  for  the  death  of  Satyavan 
arrived.  And  as  the  words  spoken  by  Narada  were  ever  pres- 
ent to  the  mind  of  Savitri,  she  counted  the  days  as  they  passed. 
And  having  ascertained  that  her  husband  would  die  on  the 
fourth  day  following,  the  damsel  fasted  day  and  night,  observ- 
ing the  Triratra  vow.  And  hearing  of  her  vow,  the  king 
became  exceedingly  sorry,  and  rising  up,  soothed  Savitri  and 
said  these  words  :  — 

"  This  vow  thou  hast  begun  to  observe,  O  daughter  of  a 
king,  is  exceedingly  hard  ;  for  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to 
fast  three  nights  together  !  " 

And  hearing  these  words,  Savitri  said :  — 

"  Thou  needest  not  be  sorry,  O  father  I  This  vow  I  shall 
be  able  to  observe  !  I  have  for  certain  undertaken  this  task 
with  perseverance  ;  and  perseverance  is  the  cause  of  the  suc- 
cessful observance  of  vows." 

And  having  listened  to  her,  Dyumatsena  said :  — 

"  I  can  by  no  means  say  unto  thee,  '  Do  thou  break  thy 
vow.'  One  like  me,  on  the  contrary,  should  say,  'Do  thou 
complete  thy  vow  I '" 

And  having  said  this,  the  high-minded  Dyumatsena 
stopped. 

And  Savitri,  continuing  to  fast,  began  to  look  lean  like  a 
wooden  doll.  And  thinking  her  husband  would  die  on  the 
morrow,  the  woe-stricken  one,  observing  a  fast,  spent  that 
night  in  extreme  anguish.  And  when  the  sun  had  risen  about 
a  couple  of  hands,  thinking  within  herself,  "To-day  is  that 
day,"  she  finished  her  morning  rites,  and  offered  oblations  to 
the  flaming  fire.  And  bowing  down  unto  the  aged  Brahmanas 
and  her  father-in-law  and  mother-in-law,  she  stood  before 
them  with  joined  hands,  concentrating  her  senses.     And  for 


LOVE  STRONGER  THAN  DEATH.  215 

the  welfare  of  Savitri  all  the  ascetics  dwelling  in  that  hermit- 
age uttered  the  auspicious  benediction  that  she  should  never 
suffer  widowhood.  And  Savitri,  immersed  in  contemplation, 
accepted  all  these  words  of  the  ascetics,  mentally  saying,  "  So 
be  it  !  "  And  the  king's  daughter,  reflecting  on  the  words  of 
Narada,  remained,  expecting  the  hour  and  the  moment. 

Then,  well  pleased,  her  father-in-law  and  her  mother-in-law 
said  these  words  unto  the  princess  seated  in  a  corner  :  — 

"Thou  hast  completed  the  vow  as  prescribed.  The  time 
for  thy  meal  has  now  arrived  ;  therefore  do  thou  what  is 
proper  !  " 

Thereat  Savitri  said  :  — 

"  Now  that  I  have  completed  the  purposed  vow,  I  will  eat 
when  the  sun  goes  down.  Even  this  is  my  heart's  resolve  and 
this  is  my  vow  ! " 

And  when  Savitri  had  spoken  thus  about  her  vow,  Satya- 
van,  taking  his  ax  upon  his  shoulder,  set  out  for  the  woods. 
And  at  this  Savitri  said  unto  her  husband  :  — 

"It  behooveth  thee  not  to  go  alone.  I  will  accompany 
thee.     I  cannot  bear  to  be  separated  from  thee  !  " 

Hearing  these  words  of  her,  Satyavan  said  :  — 

"  Thou  hast  never  before  repaired  to  the  forest.  And,  O 
lady,  the  forest  paths  are  hard  to  pass  !  Besides,  thou  hast 
been  reduced  by  fast  on  account  of  thy  vow.  How  wouldst 
thou,  therefore,  be  able  to  walk  on  foot  ?  " 

Thus  addressed,  Savitri  said  :  — 

"I  do  not  feel  languor  because  of  the  fast,  nor  do  I  feel 
exhaustion.  And  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go.  It  be- 
hooveth thee  not,  therefore,  to  prevent  me  !  " 

At  this,  Satyavan  said  :  — 

"  If  thou  desirest  to  go,  I  will  gratify  that  desire  of  thine. 
Do  thou,  however,  take  the  permission  of  my  parents,  so  that 
I  may  be  guilty  of  no  fault !  " 

Thus  addressed  by  her  lord,  Savitri  of  high  vows  saluted 
her  father-in-law  and  mother-in-law,  and  addressed  them, 
saying  :  — 

"  This  my  husband  goeth  to  the  forest  for  procuring  fruits. 
Permitted  by  my  revered  lady  mother  and  my  father-in-law, 
I  will  accompany  him.  For  to-day  I  cannot  bear  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  him.  Do  ye  not  prevent  me.  Indeed,  I  am  ex- 
tremely desirous  of  beholding  the  blossoming  woods  I  " 

To  which  Dyumatsena  answered  :  —  „ 


216  LOVE  STRONGER  THAN   DEATH. 

"  Since  Savitri  hath  been  bestowed  by  her  father  as  my 
daughter-in-law,  I  do  not  remember  that  she  hath  ever  spoken 
any  words  couching  a  request  Let  my  daughter-in-law, 
therefore,  have  her  will  in  this  matter.  Do  thou,  however, 
O  daughter-in-law,  act  in  such  a  manner  that  Satyavan's  work 
may  not  be  neglected  !  " 

Having  received  the  permission  of  both,  the  illustrious 
Savitri  departed  with  her  lord,  in  seeming  smiles,  although  her 
heart  was  racked  with  grief.  And  that  lady  of  large  eyes 
went  on,  beholding  picturesque  and  delightful  woods  inhabited 
by  swarms  of  peacocks.  And  Satyavan  sweetly  said  unto 
Savitri :  — 

"  Behold  these  rivers  of  sacred  currents,  and  these  excellent 
trees  decked  with  flowers!  " 

But  the  faultless  Savitri  continued  to  watch  her  lord  in  all 
his  moods,  and,  recollecting  the  words  of  the  celestial  sage,  she 
considered  her  husband  as  already  dead.  And  with  heart  cleft 
in  twain,  that  damsel,  replying  to  her  lord  with  one  half,  softly 
followed  him,  expecting  the  hour  with  the  other. 

The  powerful  Satyavan  then,  accompanied  by  his  wife, 
plucked  fruits  and  filled  his  wallet  with  them.  And  he  then 
began  to  fell  branches  of  trees.  And  as  he  was  hewing  them, 
he  began  to  perspire.  And  in  consequence  of  that  exercise, 
his  head  began  to  ache.  And,  afflicted  with  toil,  he  approached 
his  beloved  wife  and  addressed  her,  saying  :  — 

"  O  Savitri,  owing  to  this  hard  exercise,  my  head  acheth, 
and  all  my  limbs  and  my  heart  also  are  afflicted  sorely  !  O 
thou  of  restrained  speech,  I  think  myself  unwell.  I  feel  as  if 
my  head  was  being  pierced  with  numerous  darts.  Therefore, 
O  auspicious  lady,  I  wish  to  sleep,  for  I  have  not  the  power  to 
stand." 

Hearing  these  words,  Savitri,  quickly  advancing,  approached 
her  husband,  and  sat  down  upon  the  ground,  placing  his  head 
upon  her  lap.  And  that  helpless  lady,  thinking  of  Narada's 
words,  began  to  calculate  the  appointed  division  of  the  day,  the 
hour,  and  the  moment.  The  next  instant  she  saw  a  person  in 
red  attire,  his  head  decked  with  a  diadem.  And  his  body  was 
of  large  proportions  and  effulgent  as  the  sun.  And  he  was  of 
a  darkish  hue,  had  red  eyes,  carried  a  noose  in  his  hand,  and 
was  dreadful  to  behold.  And  he  was  standing  beside  Satyavan 
and  was  steadfastly  gazing  at  him.  And  seeing  him,  Savitri 
gently  placed  her  husband's  head  on  the  ground,  and   rising 


LOVE   STRONGER  THAN  DEATH.  217 

suddenly,  with  a  trembling  heart,  spake  these  words  in  distress- 
ful accents  :  — 

"Seeing  this  thy  superhuman  form,  I  take  thee  to  be  a 
deity.  If  thou  wilt,  tell  me,  O  chief  of  the  gods,  who  thou  art 
and  what  also  thou  intendest  to  do." 

Thereat  Yama,  the  Lord  of  Death,  replied  :  — 

"  O  Savitri,  thou  art  ever  devoted  to  thy  husband,  and 
thou  art  also  endued  with  ascetic  spirit.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  I  hold  converse  with  thee.  Do  thou,  O  auspicious  one, 
know  me  for  Yama.  This  thy  lord  Satyavan,  the  son  of  a  king, 
hath  his  days  run  out.  I  shall  therefore  take  him  away,  bind- 
ing him  in  this  noose.     Know  this  to  be  my  errand  !  " 

At  these  words  Savitri  said  :  — 

"  I  had  heard  that  thy  emissaries  come  to  take  away  mor- 
tals, O  worshipful  one  !  Why  then,  O  lord,  hast  thou  come 
in  person?" 

Thus  addressed  by  her,  the  illustrious  lord  of  the  Pitris, 
with  a  view  to  oblige  her,  began  to  unfold  unto  her  truly  all 
about  his  intentions.     And  Yama  said  :  — 

"  This  prince  is  endued  with  virtues  and  beauty  of  person, 
and  is  a  sea  of  accomplishments.  He  deserveth  not  to  be  borne 
away  by  my  emissaries.  Therefore  it  is  that  I  have  come 
personally." 

Saying  this,  Yama  by  main  force  pulled  out  of  the  body  of 
Satyavan  a  person  of  the  measure  of  a  thumb,  bound  in  noose 
and  completely  under  subjection.  And  when  Satyavan's  life  had 
thus  been  taken  out,  the  body,  deprived  of  breath,  and  shorn 
of  luster,  and  destitute  of  motion,  became  unsightly  to  behold. 
And  binding  Satyavan's  vital  essence,  Yama  proceeded  in  a 
southerly  direction.  Thereupon,  with  heart  overwhelmed  with 
grief,  the  exalted  Savitri,  ever  devoted  to  her  lord  and  crowned 
with  success  in  respect  of  her  vows,  began  to  follow  Yama. 
And  at  this  Yama  said  :  — 

"  Desist,  O  Savitri !  Go  back  and  perform  the  funeral 
obsequies  of  thy  lord  !  Thou  art  freed  from  all  thy  obligations 
to  thy  lord.     Thou  hast  come  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  come." 

Savitri  replied  :  — 

"  Whither  my  husband  is  being  carried,  or  whither  he  goeth 
of  his  own  accord,  I  will  follow  him  thither.  This  is  the 
eternal  custom.  By  virtue  of  my  asceticism,  of  my  regard  for 
my  superiors,  of  my  affection  for  my  lord,  of  my  observance  of 
vows,  as  well  as  of  thy  favor,  my  course  is  unimpeded.     It 


218  LOVE  STRONGER  THAN   DEATH. 

hath  been  declared  by  wise  men  endued  with  true  knowledge 
that  by  walking  only  seven  paces  with  another,  one  contracteth 
a  friendship  with  one's  companion.  Keeping  that  friendship 
which  I  have  contracted  with  thee  in  view,  I  shall  speak  to  thee 
something.  Do  thou  listen  to  it.  They  that  have  not  their 
souls  under  control  acquire  no  merit  by  leading  the  four  suc- 
cessive modes  of  life  ;  namely,  celibacy  with  study,  domesticity, 
retirement  into  the  woods,  and  renunciation  of  the  world. 
That  which  is  called  religious  merit  is  said  to  consist  of  true 
knowledge.  The  wise,  therefore,  have  declared  religious  merit 
to  be  the  foremost  of  all  things,  and  not  the  passage  through 
the  four  successive  modes.  By  practicing  the  duties  of  one  of 
these  modes  (domesticity)  agreeably  to  the  directions  of  the 
wise,  «y  (my  husband  and  I)  have  attained  to  true  merit;  and 
therefore  xve  do  not  desire  the  mode  of  celibacy  with  study  or 
the  mode  of  renunciation.  It  is  for  this  again  that  the  wise 
have  declared  religious  merit  to  be  the  foremost  of  all  things." 

Hearing  these  words  of  her,  Yama  said  :  — 

"  Do  thou  desist !  I  have  been  pleased  with  these  words  of 
thine,  couched  in  proper  letters  and  accents,  and  based  on 
reason.  Do  thou  ask  for  a  boon.  Except  the  life  of  thy  hus- 
band, O  thou  of  faultless  features,  I  will  bestow  on  thee  any 
boon  thou  mayest  solicit !  " 

Hearing  these  Avords,  Siivitri  said  :  — 

"  Deprived  of  his  kingdom  and  bereft  also  of  sight,  my 
father-in-law  leadeth  a  life  of  retirement  in  our  sylvan  asylum. 
Let  that  king  through  thy  favor  attain  his  eyesight,  and 
become  strong  like  either  fire  or  the  sun !  " 

Yama  said  :  — 

"  O  thou  of  faultless  features,  I  grant  thee  this  boon  !  It 
will  even  be  as  thou  hast  said  !  It  seems  that  thou  art  fatigued 
with  thy  journey.  Do  thou  desist,  and  return  !  Suffer  not 
thyself  to  be  weary  any  longer  1 " 

Savitri  said  :  — 

"What  weariness  can  I  feel  in  presence  of  my  husband? 
The  lot  that  is  my  husband's  is  certainly  mine  also.  Whither 
thou  carriest  my  husband,  thither  also  will  I  repair  !  O  chief 
of  the  celestials,  do  thou  again  listen  to  me  !  Even  a  single 
interview  with  the  pious  is  highly  desirable  ;  friendship  with 
them  is  still  more  so.  And  intercourse  with  the  virtuous  can 
never  be  fruitless.  Therefore  one  should  live  in  the  company 
of  the  righteous  !  " 


LOVE   STII().N(;KR    111  an    ItKATll.  219 

Yama  said  :  — 

"These  words  tliou  hast  spoken  are  fraught  with  useful 
instruction,  delight  the  heart,  and  enhance  the  wisdom  of  even 
the  learned.  Therefore,  O  hidy,  solicit  thou  a  second  boon  — 
excejjt  the  life  of  Satyavan  !  " 

Savitri  said  :  — 

"Some  time  before,  my  wise  and  intelligent  father-in-law 
was  deprived  of  his  kingdom.  May  that  monarch  regain  his 
kingdom  !  And  may  that  sui)erior  of  mine  never  renounce 
his  duties  !     Even  this  is  the  second  boon  that  I  solicit !  " 

Then  Yama  said  :  — 

"The  king  shall  soon  regain  his  kingdom.  Nor  sliall  he 
ever  fall  off  from  his  duties.  Thus,  O  daughter  of  a  king, 
have  I  fulfilled  thy  desire.  Do  thou  now  desist  !  Return  ! 
Do  not  take  any  further  trouble  !  " 

Savitri  said  :  — 

"  Thou  hast  restrained  all  creatures  by  thy  decrees,  and  it 
is  by  thy  decrees  that  thou  takest  them  away,  not  according 
to  thy  will.  Therefore  it  is,  O  god,  O  divine  one,  that  people 
call  thee  Yama  (one  that  decrees)  !  Do  thou  listen  to  the  words 
that  I  say.  Tlie  eternal  duty  of  the  good  towards  all  crea- 
tures is  never  to  injure  them  in  thought,  word,  or  deed,  but  to 
bear  them  love  and  to  give  them  their  due.  As  regards  this 
world,  everything  here  is  like  this  husband  of  mine.  Men 
are  destitute  of  both  devotion  and  skill.  The  good,  how- 
ever, show  mercy  to  even  their  foes  when  these  seek  their 
protection." 

Yama  said  :  — 

"  As  water  to  the  thirsty  soul,  so  are  these  words  uttered 
by  thee  to  me  !  Therefore  do  thou,  O  fair  lady,  if  thou  wilt, 
once  again  ask  for  any  boon,  except  Satyavan's  life  I  " 

At  these  words  Savitri  replied  :  — 

"That  lord  of  earth,  my  father,  is  without  sons.     That  he 
may  have  a  hundred  sons  begotten  of  his  loins,  so  that  his  line 
may  be  perpetuated,  is  the  third  boon  I  would  ask  of  thee  !  " 
Yama  said  :  — 

"  Thy  sire,  O  auspicious  lady,  shall  obtain  a  hundred  illus- 
trious  sons,  who  will  perpetuate  and   increase    their   father's 
race  !     Now,  O  daughter  of  a  king,  thou  hast   obtained    thy 
wish.     Do  thou  desist  !     Thou  hast  come  far  enough." 
Savitri  said  :  — 
"  Staying  by  the  side  of  my  husband,  I  am  not  conscious 


220  LOVE   STRONGER  THAN  DEATH. 

of  the  length  of  the  way  I  have  walked.  Indeed,  my  mind 
rusheth  to  yet  a  longer  way  off.  Do  thou  again,  as  thou  goest 
on,  listen  to  the  words  I  shall  presently  utter  !  Thou  art  the 
powerful  son  of  Vivaswat.  It  is  for  this  that  thou  art  called 
*Vaivaswat'  by  the  wise.  And,  O  lord,  since  thou  dealest 
out  equal  law  unto  all  created  things,  thou  hast  been  desig- 
nated 'the  lord  of  justice.'  One  reposeth  not,  even  in  one's 
own  self,  the  confidence  that  one  doth  in  the  righteous. 
Therefore  every  one  wisheth  particularly  for  intimacy  with 
the  righteous.  It  is  goodness  of  heart  alone  that  inspireth 
the  confidence  of  all  creatures.  And  it  is  for  this  that  people 
rely  particularly  on  the  righteous." 

And  hearing  these  words,  Yama  said  :  — 

"The  words  that  thou  utterest,  O  fair  lady,  I  have  not 
heard  from  any  one  save  thee  !  I  am  highly  pleased  with  this 
speech  of  thine.  Except  the  life  of  Satyavan,  solicit  thou  there- 
fore a  fourth  boon,  and  then  go  thy  way." 

Savitri  then  said  :  — 

"  Born  of  me  and  of  Satyavan's  loins,  begotten  by  both  of 
us,  let  there  be  a  century  of  sons  possessed  of  strength  and 
prowess  and  capable  of  perpetuating  our  race  !  Even  that  is 
the  fourth  boon  I  would  beg  of  thee !  " 

Hearing  these  words  of  hers,  Yama  replied :  — 

"  Thou  shalt,  O  lady,  obtain  a  century  of  sons,  possessed  of 
strength  and  prowess  and  causing  thee  great  delight.  O 
daughter  of  a  king,  let  no  more  weariness  be  thine  !  Do  thou 
desist !     Thou  hast  already  come  too  far ! " 

Thus  addressed,  Savitri  said  :  — 

"  They  that  are  righteous  always  practice  eternal  morality ! 
And  the  communion  of  the  pious  with  the  pious  is  never  fruit- 
less !  Nor  is  there  any  danger  to  the  pious  from  those  that  are 
pious.  And,  verily,  it  is  the  righteous  who  by  their  truth  make 
the  sun  move  in  the  heavens.  And  it  is  the  righteous  that  sup- 
port the  earth  by  their  austerities.  And,  O  king,  it  is  the 
righteous  upon  whom  both  the  past  and  the  future  depend! 
Therefore  thej''  that  are  righteous  are  never  cheerless  in  the 
company  of  the  righteous.  Knowing  this  to  be  the  eternal 
practice  of  the  good  and  righteous,  they  that  are  righteous 
continue  to  do  good  to  others  without  expecting  any  benefit  in 
return.  A  good  office  is  never  thrown  away  on  the  good  and 
virtuous.  Neither  interest  nor  dignity  suffereth  any  injury 
by  such  an  act.     And   since   such   conduct   ever   adheres  to 


LOVE   STRONGER  THAN    DEATH.  221 

the  righteous,  the  righteous  often  become  the  protectors  of 

all  1  " 

Hearing  these  words  of  hers,  Yama  replied  :  — 

"  The  more  thou  utterest  such  speeches  that  are  pregnant 
with  great  import,  full  of  honeyed  phrases,  instinct  with  moral- 
ity, and  agreeable  to  the  mind,  the  more  is  the  respect  that  I 
feel  for  thee  !  O  thou  that  art  devoted  to  thy  lord,  ask  for 
some  incomparable  boon  !  " 

Thus  addressed,  Savitri  said  :  — 

"  O  bestower  of  honors,  the  boon  thou  hast  already  given  me 
is  incapable  of  accomplishment  without  my  husband.  There- 
fore, among  other  boons  I  ask  for  this,  may  this  Satyavan  be 
restored  to  life  !  Deprived  of  my  husband,  I  am  as  one  dead  ! 
Without  my  husband  I  do  not  wish  for  happiness.  Without 
my  husband  I  do  not  wish  for  heaven  itself.  Without  my  hus- 
band I  do  not  wish  for  prosperity.  Without  my  husband  I  can- 
not make  up  my  mind  to  live.  Thou  thyself  hast  bestowed  on 
me  the  boon,  namely,  of  a  century  of  sons  ;  yet  thou  takest 
away  my  husband !  I  ask  for  this  boon  :  may  Satyavan  be 
restored  to  life,  for  by  that  thy  words  will  be  made  true." 

Thereupon,  saying  "  So  be  it,'"  Yama,  the  dispenser  of  justice, 
untied  his  noose,  and  with  cheerful  heart  said  these  words  to 

Savitri :  — 

"  Thus,  O  auspicious  and  chaste  lady,  is  thy  husband  freed 
by  mel  Thou  wilt  be  free  to  take  him  back,  released  from 
disease.  And  he  will  attain  to  success  !  And,  along  with  thee, 
he  will  attain  a  life  of  four  hundred  years.  And,  celebrating 
sacrifices  with  due  rites,  he  will  achieve  great  fame  in  the 
world.  And  upon  thee  Satyavan  will  also  beget  a  century  of 
sons.  And  these  Kshatriyas  with  their  sons  and  grandsons 
will  all  be  kings,  and  will  always  be  famous  in  connection  with 
thy  name.  And  thy  father  also  will  beget  a  hundred  sons  on  thy 
mother  Malavi.  And  under  the  name  of  the  '  Malavas,'  thy 
Kshatriya  brothers,  resembling  the  celestials,  will  be  widely 
known  along  with  their  sons  and  daughters  ! " 

And  having  bestowed  these  boons  on  Savitri  and  having 
thus  made  her  desist,  the  lord  of  the  Pitris  went  to  his  own 
abode.  And  having  obtained  her  lord,  Savitri,  after  Yama  had 
gone  away,  went  back  to  the  spot  where  her  husband's  ash- 
colored  corpse  lay.  And  seeing  her  lord  on  the  ground,  she 
approached  him,  and  taking  hold  of  him,  she  placed  his  head 
on  her  lap  and  herself  sat  down  on  the  ground.    Then  Satyavan 


222  A  HINDOO   CATECHISM. 

regained  his  consciousness,  and,  affectionately  eying  Savitri 
again  and  again,  like  one  come  home  after  a  sojourn  in  a  strange 
land,  he  addressed  her  thus  :  — 

"Alas  I  I  have  slept  long  I  Wherefore  didst  thou  not 
wake  me  ?  And  where  is  that  same  sable  person  that  was 
dragging  me  away  ?  " 

At  these  words  of  his,  Savitri  said  :  — 

"  Thou  hast,  O  bull  among  men,  slept  long  on  my  lap  I 
That  restrainer  of  creatures,  the  worshipful  Yama,  hath  gone 
away.  Thou  art  refreshed,  O  blessed  one,  and  sleep  hath  for- 
saken thee,  O  son  of  a  king !  If  thou  art  able,  rise  thou  up  I 
Behold,  the  night  is  deep  !  " 

And,  having  regained  consciousness,  Satyavan  rose  up  like 
one  who  had  enjoyed  a  sweet  sleep. 


A  HINDOO   CATECHISM. 
King  Yudhisthira  answers  the  Yaksha's  Questions. 

(From  the  Mahabharata :  translated  by  Protap  Chandra  Roy,) 

The  Taksha  —  What  exalteth  the  unpurified  soul  ?  What 
are  those  that  keep  company  with  the  soul  during  its  process 
of  purification  ?  Who  lead  the  soul  to  its  state  of  rest  ?  On 
what  is  the  soul  established  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  1.  Self-knowledge.  2.  Self-restraint,  and 
other  qualities  of  a  godlike  nature.  3.  Rectitude,  morality, 
and  religious  observances.  4.  The  soul  is  established  on 
truth,  or  pure  knowledge. 

The  Taksha — By  what  doth  one  become  learned?  By 
what  doth  he  attain  what  is  very  great  ?  How  can  one  have  a 
second  ?     And,  O  king,  how  can  one  acquire  intelligence  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  It  is  by  the  study  of  the  Srutis  that  a  person 
becometh  learned.  It  is  by  ascetic  austerities  that  one  acquireth 
what  is  very  great.  It  is  by  intelligence  that  a  person  acquireth 
a  second.     And  it  is  by  serving  the  old  that  one  becometh  wise. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  of  the  foremost  value  to  those  that 
cultivate  ?  What  of  the  foremost  value  to  those  that  sow  ? 
What  of  the  foremost  value  to  those  that  wish  prosperity  in 


A  HINDOO  CATECHISM.  223 

this  world?     And  what  of  the  foremost  value  to  those  that 

brinc^  forth? 

Yudhisthira  —  That  which  is  of  the  foremost  value  to  those 
that  cultivate  is  rain.  That  of  the  foremost  value  to  those  that 
sow  is  seed.  That  of  the  foremost  value  to  those  that  bring  forth 
is  offspring. 

Tlie  Yaksha—  What  person,  enjoying  all  the  objects  of  the 
senses,  endued  with  intelligence,  regarded  by  the  world  and 
liked  by  all  beings,  doth  not  yet  live,  though  breathing? 

YudhistJdra  —  He  that  doth  not  offer  anything  to  these 
five,  namely,  gods,  guests,  servants,  Pitris,  and  himself,  though 
endued  with  breath,  is  not  yet  alive. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  weightier  than  the  earth  itself? 
What  is  higher  than  the  heavens  ?  What  is  fleeter  than  the 
wind  ?     And  what  is  more  numerous  than  the  grass  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  The  mother  is  weightier  than  the  earth.  The 
father  is  higher  than  the  heavens.  The  mind  is  fleeter  than 
the  wind.  And  our  thoughts  are  more  numerous  than  grass. 
The  Yaksha  —  What  is  that  which  doth  not  close  its  eyes 
while  asleep  ?  What  is  that  which  doth  not  move  after  birth  ? 
What  is  that  which  is  without  heart  ?  And  what  is  that  which 
swells  with  its  own  impetus  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  A  fish  doth  not  close  its  eyes  while  asleep. 
An  egg  doth  not  move  after  birth.  A  stone  is  without  heart. 
And  a  river  swelleth  with  its  own  impetus. 

The  Yaksha  —  Who  is  the  friend  of  the  householder? 
Who  is  the  friend  of  the  exile  ?  Who  is  the  friend  of  him  that 
ails?     And  who  is  the  friend  of  one  about  to  die? 

Yudhisthira  —  The  friend  of  the  householder  is  his  wife. 
The  friend  of  the  exile  in  a  distant  land  is  his  companion.  The 
friend  of  him  that  ails  is  the  physician.  And  the  friend  of  him 
about  to  die  is  charity. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  that  which  sojourneth  alone?  What 
is  that  which  is  reborn  after  its  birth  ?  What  is  the  remedy 
against  cold  ?     And  what  is  the  largest  field  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  The  sun  sojourneth  alone.  The  moon  takes 
birth  anew.  Fire  is  the  remedy  against  cold.  And  the  earth 
is  the  largest  field. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  the  '^.ghest  refuge  of  virtue  ?  What, 
of  fame?     What,  of  heaven?     And  what,  of  happiness? 

Yudhisthira  —  Liberality  is  the  highest  refuge  of  virtue. 
Gift,  of  fame;  truth,  of  heaven;  and  good  behavior,  of  happiness. 


224  A  HINDOO  CATECHISM. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  the  soul  of  man  ?  Who  is  that  friend 
bestowed  on  man  by  the  gods?  What  is  man's  chief  support? 
And  what  also  is  his  chief  refuge  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  The  son  is  a  man's  soul.  The  wife  is  the 
friend  bestowed  on  man  by  the  gods.  The  clouds  are  his  chief 
support.     And  gift  is  the  chief  refuge. 

The  Yakiha  —  What  is  the  best  of  all  laudable  things? 
What  is  the  most  valuable  of  all  possessions?  What  is  the 
best  of  all  gains?  And  what  is  the  best  of  all  kinds  of 
happiness  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  The  best  of  all  laudable  things  is  skill.  The 
best  of  all  possessions  is  knowledge.  The  best  of  all  gains  is 
health.     And  the  best  of  all  kinds  of  happiness  is  contentment. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  the  highest  duty  in  the  world  ? 
What  is  that  virtue  which  always  beareth  fruit?  What  is 
that  which,  if  controlled,  leadeth  not  to  regret?  And  who  are 
they  with  whom  an  alliance  cannot  break? 

Yudhisthira  —  The  highest  of  duties  is  to  refrain  from 
injuries.  The  rites  ordained  in  the  three  Vedas  always  bear 
fruit.  The  mind,  if  controlled,  leadeth  to  no  regret.  And 
alliance  with  the  good  never  breaketh. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  is  that  which,  if  renounced,  maketh  one 
agreeable?  What  is  that  which,  if  renounced,  leadeth  to  no 
regret?  What  is  that  which,  if  renounced,  maketh  one  wealthy? 
And  what  is  that  which,  if  renounced,  maketh  one  happy  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  Pride,  if  renounced,  maketh  one  agreeable. 
Wrath,  if  renounced,  leadeth  to  no  regret.  Desire,  if  renounced, 
maketh  one  wealthy.  And  avarice,  if  renounced,  maketh  one 
happy. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  has  been  said  to  be  the  sign  of  asceti- 
cism ?  What  is  true  restraint  ?  What  constitutes  forgiveness  ? 
And  what  is  shame? 

Yudhisthira  —  Staying  in  one's  own  religion  is  asceticism. 
The  restraint  of  the  mind  is  of  all  restraints  the  true  one.  For- 
giveness consists  in  enduring  enmity.  And  shame  is  withdraw- 
ing from  all  unworthy  acts. 

The  Yaksha  —  What,  O  king,  is  said  to  be  knowledge? 
What,  tranquillity  ?  What  constitutes  mercy  ?  And  what  hath 
been  called  simplicity  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  True  knowledge  is  that  of  Divinity.  True 
tranquillity  is  that  of  the  heart.  Mercy  consists  in  wishing 
happiness  to  all.     And  simplicity  is  equanimity  of  heart. 


A  HINDOO  CATECHISM.  225 

The  YaJcsha  —  What  enemy  is  invincible?  What  consti- 
tutes an  incurable  disease  for  man?  What  sort  of  man  is 
called  honest,  and  what  dishonest? 

Yudhisthira  —  Anger  is  an  invincible  enemy.  Covetousness 
constitutes  an  incurable  disease.  He  is  honest  that  desires  the 
weal  of  all  creatures,  and  he  is  dishonest  that  is  unmerciful. 

The  Yaksha  —  What,  O  king,  is  ignorance?  And  what 
is  pride?  What  also  is  to  be  understood  by  idleness?  And 
what  hath  been  spoken  of  as  grief? 

Yudhisthira  —  True  ignorance  consists  in  not  knowing  one's 
duties.  Pride  is  a  consciousness  of  one's  being  himself  an  actor 
or  a  sufferer  in  life.  Idleness  consists  in  not  discharging  one's 
duties.     And  ignorance  is  grief. 

The  YaJcsha — What  hath  steadiness  been  said  to  be  ?  And 
what  patience  ?  What  also  is  a  real  bath  ?  And  what  is 
charity  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  Steadiness  consists  in  one's  staying  in  one's 
own  religion.  True  patience  consists  in  the  subjugation  of  the 
senses.  A  true  bath  consists  in  washing  the  mind  clean  of  all 
impurities.     And  charity  consists  in  protecting  all  creatures. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  man  should  be  regarded  as  learned, 
and  who  should  be  called  an  atheist  ?  Who  is  also  to  be  called 
ignorant  ?  What  is  called  desire,  and  what  are  the  sources  of 
desire  ?     And  what  is  envy  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  He  is  to  be  called  learned  who  knoweth  his 
duties.  An  atheist  is  he  who  is  ignorant,  and  he  who  is  igno- 
rant is  an  atheist.  Desire  is  due  to  objects  of  possession.  And 
envy  is  nothing  else  than  grief  of  heart. 

7^e  Yaksha  —  What  is  pride,  and  what  hypocrisy  ?  What 
is  the  grace  of  the  gods,  and  what  is  wickedness  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  Stolid  ignorance  is  pride  ;  the  setting  up  of 
a  religious  standard  is  hypocrisy.  The  grace  of  the  gods  is  the 
fruit  of  our  gifts  ;  and  wickedness  consists  in  speaking  ill  of 
others. 

The  Yaksha  —  Virtue,  profit,  and  desire  are  opposed  to  one 
another.  How  could  things  thus  antagonistic  to  one  another 
exist  together  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  When  a  wife  and  virtue  agree  with  each 
other,  then  all  the  three  thou  hast  mentioned  may  exist  together. 

The  Yaksha  —  O  bull  of  the  Bharata  race,  who  is  he  that  is 
condemned  to  everlasting  hell  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  He  that  summoneth  a  poor  Brahmana,  prom-. 


226  A   HINDOO  CATECHISM. 

ising  to  make  him  a  gift,  and  then  tells  him  that  he  hath  noth- 
ing to  give,  goeth  to  everlasting  hell.  He  also  must  go  to 
everlasting  hell  who  imputes  falsehood  to  the  Vedas,  the 
Scriptures,  the  Brahraanas,  the  gods,  and  the  ceremonies  in 
honor  of  the  Pitris.  He  also  goeth  to  everlasting  hell  who, 
though  in  possession  of  wealth,  never  giveth  away  nor  enjoyeth 
himself,  from  avarice,  saying  he  hath  none. 

The  Yaksha  —  By  what,  O  king, —  birth,  behavior,  study,  or 
learning,  —  doth  a  person  become  a  Brahmana  ?  Tell  us  with 
certitude  I 

Yudhisthira  —  Listen,  O  Yaksha  !  It  is  neither  birth  nor 
study  nor  learning  that  is  the  cause  of  Brahmanhood.  With- 
out doubt,  it  is  behavior  that  constitutes  it.  One's  behavior 
should  always  be  well  guarded,  especially  by  a  Brahmana.  He 
who  maintains  his  conduct  unimpaired  is  never  impaired  him- 
self. He,  however,  whose  conduct  is  lost  is  lost  himself.  Pro- 
fessors and  pupils,  —  all  who  study  the  Scriptures,  in  fact,  —  if 
addicted  to  wicked  habits,  are  to  be  regarded  as  illiterate 
wretches.  He  only  is  learned  who  performeth  his  religious 
duties.  He  even  that  hath  studied  the  four  Vedas  is  to  be 
regarded  as  a  wicked  wretch,  scarcely  distinguishable  from  a 
Sudra,  if  his  conduct  be  not  correct.  He  only  who  performeth 
the  Agni-Votra  and  hath  his  senses  under  control  is  called  a 
Brahmana. 

The  Yaksha  —  What  doth  one  gain  that  speaketh  agreeably  ? 
What  doth  he  gain  that  always  acteth  with  judgment  ?  What 
doth  he  gain  that  hath  many  friends?  And  what  he  that  is 
devoted  to  virtue  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  He  that  speaketh  agreeable  words  becometh 
agreeable  to  all.  He  that  acteth  with  judgment  obtaineth  what- 
ever he  seeketh.  He  that  hath  many  friends  liveth  happily. 
And  he  that  is  devoted  to  virtue  obtaineth  a  happy  state  in  the 
next  world. 

The  Yaksha  —  Who  is  truly  happy  ?  What  is  most  wonder- 
ful ?     What  is  the  path  ?     And  what  is  the  news  ? 

Yudhisthira  —  A  man  who  cooketh  in  his  own  house  scanty 
vegetables  on  the  fifth  or  the  sixth  day,  but  who  is  not  in  debt 
and  who  stirreth  not  from  home,  is  truly  happy.  Day  after 
day  countless  beings  are  going  to  the  abode  of  Yama  (the  god 
of  death),  yet  those  that  remain  behind  believe  themselves  to 
be  immortal.  What  can  be  more  wonderful  than  this  ?  Argu- 
ment leads  to  no  certain  conclusion  ;  the  Crutis  are  different 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  227 

from  one  another  ;  there  is  not  even  one  RiBhi  whose  opinion 
can  be  accepted  as  infallible  ;  the  truth  about  religion  and  duty 
is  hid  in  caves :  therefore,  that  alone  is  the  path  along  which 
the  great  have  trod.  This  world,  full  of  ignorance,  is  like  a 
pan.  The  sun  is  fire  ;  the  days  and  nights  are  fuel.  The 
months  and  the  seasons  constitute  the  wooden  ladle.  Time  is 
the  cook,  that  with  such  aids  is  cooking  all  creatures  in  tha .; 
pan  :  this  is  the  news. 

The  Yaksha  —  Thou  hast,  O  represser  of  foes,  truly  an- 
swered all  my  questions  !  Tell  us  now  who  is  truly  a  man,  and 
what  man  truly  possesseth  every  kind  of  wealth. 

Yudhisthira  —  The  report  of  one's  good  action  reacheth 
heaven  and  spreadeth  over  the  earth.  As  long  as  that  report 
lasteth,  so  long  is  a  person  called  a  man.  And  that  person  to 
whom  the  agreeable  and  the  disagreeable,  weal  and  woe,  the 
past  and  the  future,  are  the  same,  is  said  to  possess  every  kind 
of  wealth. 

HINDOO   APOLOGUES. 

(From  "Tales  of  the  Punjab,"  edited  by  Flora  Annie  Steel.) 

The  Jackal  and  the  Iguana. 

One  moonlight  night,  a  miserable,  half-starved  jackal,  skulk- 
ing through  the  village,  found  a  worn-out  pair  of  shoes  in  the 
gutter.  They  were  too  tough  for  him  to  eat,  so,  determined 
to  make  some  use  of  them,  he  strung  them  to  his  ears  like  ear- 
rings, and,  going  down  to  the  edge  of  the  pond,  gathered  all 
the  old  bones  he  could  find  together,  and  built  a  platform  with 
them,  plastering  it  over  with  mud. 

On  this  he  sat  in  a  dignified  attitude,  and  when  any  ani- 
mal came  to  the  pond  to  drink,  he  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice : 
"  Hi !  stop  !  You  must  not  taste  a  drop  till  you  have  done 
homage  to  me.  So  repeat  these  verses,  which  I  have  composed 
in  honor  of  the  occasion,  — 

"  Silver  is  his  dais,  plastered  o'er  with  gold ; 
In  his  ears  are  jewels  —  some  prince  I  must  behold !" 

Now,  as  most  of  the  animals  were  very  thirsty,  and  in  a 
great  hurry  to  drink,  they  did  not  care  to  dispute  the  matter, 
but  gabbled  off  the  words  without  a  second  thought.  Even 
the  royal  tiger,  treating  it  as  a  jest,  repeated  the  jackal's  rhyme, 
in  consequence  of  which  the  latter  became  quite  cock-a-hoop, 


228  HINDOO  APOLOGUES. 

and  really  began  to  believe  he  was  a  personage  of  great 
importance. 

By  and  by  an  iguana,  or  big  lizard,  came  waddling  and 
wheezing  down  to  the  water,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a 
baby  alligator. 

"  Hi  !  you  there  !  "  sang  out  the  jackal :  "  you  mustn't 
drink  until  you  have  said, — 

"  Silver  is  his  dais,  plastered  o'er  with  gold ; 
In  his  ears  are  jewels  —  some  prince  I  must  behold ! " 

"  Pouf  !  pouf  !  pouf  !  "  gasped  the  iguana.  "  Mercy  on  us, 
how  dry  my  throat  is  !  Mightn't  I  have  just  a  wee  sip  of 
water  first?  and  then  I  could  do  justice  to  your  admirable 
lines ;  at  present  I  am  as  hoarse  as  a  crow  !  " 

"  By  all  means  !  "  replied  the  jackal,  with  a  gratified  smirk. 
"  I  flatter  myself  the  verses  are  good,  especially  when  well 
recited." 

So  the  iguana,  nose  down  into  the  water,  drank  away,  until 
the  jackal  began  to  think  he  would  never  leave  off,  and  was 
quite  taken  aback  when  he  finally  came  to  an  end  of  his  draught, 
and  began  to  move  away. 

"  Hi  !  hi !  "  cried  the  jackal,  recovering  his  presence  of 
mind  ;  "  stop  a  bit  and  say,  — 

"  Silver  is  his  dais,  plastered  o'er  with  gold ; 
In  his  ears  are  jewels  —  some  prince  I  must  behold! " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  replied  the  iguana,  politely,  "  I  was  very 
nearly  forgetting  !  Let  me  see  —  I  must  try  my  voice  first  — 
do,  re,  me,  fa,  sol,  la,  si,  —  that  is  right  I  Now,  how  does  it 
run  ?  " 

"  Silver  is  his  dais,  plastered  o'er  with  gold ; 
In  his  ears  are  jewels  —  some  prince  I  must  behold ! " 

repeated  the  jackal,  not  observing  that  the  lizard  was  carefully 
edging  farther  and  farther  away. 

"  Exactly  so,"  returned  the  iguana  ;  "  I  think  I  could  say 
that !  "     Whereupon  he  sang  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  — 

"  Bones  make  up  his  dais,  with  mud  it's  plastered  o'er, 
Old  shoes  are  his  ear  drops :  a  jackal,  nothing  more ! " 

A.nd  turning  round,  he  bolted  for  his  hole  as  hard  as  he  could. 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  229 

The  jackal  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears,  and  sat  dumb 
with  astonishment.  Then,  rage  lending  him  wings,  he  flew 
after  the  lizard,  who,  despite  his  short  legs  and  scanty  breath, 
put  his  best  foot  foremost,  and  scuttled  away  at  a  great  rate. 

It  was  a  near  race,  however,  for  just  as  he  popped  into  his 
hole  the  jackal  caught  him  by  the  tail  and  held  on.  Then  it 
was  a  case  of  "  pull  butcher,  pull  baker,"  until  the  lizard  made 
certain  his  tail  must  come  off,  and  the  jackal  felt  as  if  his  front 
teeth  would  come  out.  Still  not  an  inch  did  either  budge,  one 
way  or  the  other,  and  there  they  might  have  remained  till  the 
present  day  had  not  the  iguana  called  out,  in  his  sweetest  tones  : 
"  Friend,  I  give  in  !  Just  leave  hold  of  my  tail,  will  you  ? 
Then  I  can  turn  round  and  come  out." 

Whereupon  the  jackal  let  go,  and  the  tail  disappeared  up 
the  hole  in  a  twinkling  ;  while  all  the  reward  the  jackal  got  for 
digging  away  until  his  nails  were  nearly  worn  out  was  hearing 
the  iguana  sing  softly,  — 

"  Bones  make  up  his  dais,  with  mud  it's  plastered  o'er, 
Old  shoes  are  his  ear  drops :  a  jackal,  nothing  more ! " 

The  Jackal  and  the  Partridge. 

A  Jackal  and  a  Partridge  swore  eternal  friendship  ;  but  the 
Jackal  was  very  exacting  and  jealous.  "  You  don't  do  half  as 
much  for  me  as  I  do  for  you,"  he  used  to  say,  "  and  yet  you  talk 
a  great  deal  of  your  friendship.  Now  my  idea  of  a  friend  is 
one  who  is  able  to  make  me  laugh  or  cry,  give  me  a  good  meal, 
or  save  my  life  if  need  be.     You  couldn't  do  that !  " 

"  Let  us  see,"  answered  the  Partridge  ;  "  follow  me  at  a 
little  distance,  and  if  I  don't  make  you  laugh  soon  you  may 
eat  me !  " 

So  she  flew  on  till  she  met  two  travelers  trudging  along, 
one  behind  the  other.  They  were  both  footsore  and  weary, 
and  the  first  carried  his  bundle  on  a  stick  over  his  shoulder, 
while  the  second  had  his  shoes  in  his  hand. 

Lightly  as  a  feather  the  Partridge  settled  on  the  first  trav- 
eler's stick.  He,  none  the  wiser,  trudged  on ;  but  the  second 
traveler,  seeing  the  bird  sitting  so  tamely  just  in  front  of  his 
nose,  said  to  himself,  "  What  a  chance  for  a  supper  !  "  and 
immediately  flung  his  shoes  at  it,  they  being  ready  to  hand. 
Whereupon  the  Partridge  flew  away,  and  the  shoes  knocked 
off  the  first  traveler's  turban. 


230  HINDOO  APOLOGUES. 

"  What  a  plague  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  he,  angrily  turning 
on  his  companion.  "Why  did  you  throw  your  shoes  at  my 
head?" 

"  Brother !  "  replied  the  other,  mildly,  "  do  not  be  vexed.  I 
didn't  throw  them  at  you,  but  at  a  Partridge  that  was  sitting 
on  your  stick." 

"On  my  stick  !  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool?  "  shouted  the 
injured  man,  in  a  great  rage.  "  Don't  tell  me  such  cock-and- 
bull  stories.  First  you  insult  me,  and  then  you  lie  like  a  cow- 
ard ;  but  I'll  teach  you  manners  !  " 

Then  he  fell  upon  his  fellow-traveler  without  more  ado,  and 
they  fought  until  they  could  not  see  out  of  their  eyes,  till  their 
noses  were  bleeding,  their  clothes  in  rags,  and  the  Jackal  had 
nearly  died  of  laughing. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ?  "  asked  the  Partridge  of  her  friend. 

"Well,"  answered  the  Jackal,  "you  have  certainly  made 
me  laugh,  but  I  doubt  if  you  could  make  me  cry.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  be  a  buffoon  ;  it  is  more  difficult  to  excite  the  higher 
emotions." 

"  Let  us  see,"  retorted  the  Partridge,  somewhat  piqued  ; 
"there  is  a  huntsman  with  his  dogs  coming  along  the  road. 
Just  creep  into  that  hollow  tree  and  watch  me ;  if  you  don't 
weep  scalding  tears,  you  must  have  no  feeling  in  you !  " 

The  Jackal  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  watched  the  Partridge, 
who  began  fluttering  about  the  bushes  till  the  dogs  caught  sight 
of  her,  when  she  flew  to  the  hollow  tree  where  the  Jackal  was 
hidden.  Of  course  the  dogs  smelt  him  at  once,  and  set  up  such 
a  yelping  and  scratching  that  the  huntsman  came  up,  and  see- 
ing what  it  was,  dragged  the  Jackal  out  by  the  tail.  Where- 
upon the  dogs  worried  him  to  their  hearts'  content,  and  finally 
left  him  for  dead. 

By  and  by  he  opened  his  eyes  —  for  he  was  only  foxing  — 
and  saw  the  Partridge  sitting  on  a  branch  above  him. 

"  Did  you  cry  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously.  "  Did  I  rouse  your 
higher  emo " 

"  Be  quiet,  will  you !  "  snarled  the  Jackal ;  "  I'm  half  dead 
with  fear !  " 

So  there  the  Jackal  lay  for  some  time,  getting  the  better  of 
his  bruises,  and  meanwhile  he  became  hungry. 

"  Now  is  the  time  for  friendship  !  "  said  he  to  the  Partridge. 
"  Get  me  a  good  dinner,  and  I  will  acknowledge  you  are  a  true 
friend." 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  231 

"  Very  well  !  "  replied  the  Partridge  ;  "  only  watch  me,  and 
help  yourself  when  the  time  comes." 

Just  then  a  troop  of  women  came  by,  carrying  their  hus- 
bands' dinners  to  the  harvest  field. 

The  Partridge  gave  a  little  plaintive  cry,  and  began  flutter- 
ing along  from  bush  to  bush  as  if  she  were  wounded. 

"  A  wounded  bird  !  —  a  wounded  bird  !  "  cried  the  women  ; 
"  we  can  easily  catch  it !  " 

Whereupon  they  set  off  in  pursuit,  but  the  cunning  Par- 
tridge played  a  thousand  tricks,  till  they  became  so  excited 
over  the  chase  that  they  put  their  bundles  on  the  ground  in 
order  to  pursue  it  more  nimbly.  The  Jackal,  meanwhile,  seiz- 
ing his  opportunity,  crept  up,  and  made  off  with  a  good  dinner. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  now  ?  "  asked  the  Partridge. 

"  Well,"  returned  the  Jackal,  "  I  confess  you  have  given  me 
a  very  good  dinner ;  you  have  also  made  me  laugh  —  and  cry 
—  ahem  !  But,  after  all,  the  great  test  of  friendship  is  beyond 
you  —  you  couldn't  save  my  life  !  " 

"  Perhaps  not,"  acquiesced  the  Partridge,  mournfully,  "  I 
am  so  small  and  weak.  But  it  grows  late  —  we  should  be  going 
home ;  and  as  it  is  a  long  way  round  by  the  ford,  let  us  go 
across  the  river.     My  friend  the  crocodile  will  carry  us  over." 

Accordingly,  they  set  off  for  the  river,  and  the  crocodile 
kindly  consented  to  carry  them  across  ;  so  they  sat  on  his  broad 
back,  and  he  ferried  them  over.  But  just  as  they  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream  the  Partridge  remarked  :  "  I  believe  the 
crocodile  intends  to  play  us  a  trick.  How  awkward  if  he  were 
to  drop  you  into  the  water  !  " 

"  Awkward  for  you,  too  ! "  replied  the  Jackal,  turning  pale. 

"  Not  at  all !  not  at  all !     I  have  wings,  you  haven't." 

On  this  the  Jackal  shivered  and  shook  with  fear,  and  when 
the  crocodile,  in  a  grewsome  growl,  remarked  that  he  was 
hungry  and  wanted  a  good  meal,  the  wretched  creature  hadn't 
a  word  to  say. 

"  Pooh  ! "  cried  the  Partridge,  airily,  "  don't  try  tricks  on  us  — 
I  should  fly  away,  and  as  for  my  friend  the  Jackal,  you  couldn't 
hurt  him.  He  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  take  his  life  with  him 
on  these  little  excursions ;  he  leaves  it  at  home  locked  up  in 
the  cupboard." 

"Is  that  a  fact?"  asked  the  crocodile,  surprised. 

"  Certainly  !  "  retorted  the  Partridge.  "  Try  to  eat  him  if 
you  like,  but  you  will  only  tire  yourself  to  no  purpose." 


232  HINDOO  APOLOGUES. 

"  Dear  me  !  how  very  odd  !  "  gasped  the  crocodile  ;  and  he 
was  so  taken  aback  that  he  carried  the  Jackal  safe  to  shore. 

"  Well,  are  you  satisfied  now  ?  "  asked  the  Partridge. 

"  My  dear  madam  !  "  quoth  the  Jackal,  "  you  have  made  me 
laugh,  you  have  made  me  cry,  you  have  given  me  a  good  din- 
ner, and  you  have  saved  my  life ;  but  upon  my  honor  I  think 
you  are  too  clever  for  a  friend  :  so,  good-by  !  " 

And  the  Jackal  never  went  near  the  Partridge  again. 

The  Close  Alliance. 
a  tale  of  woe. 

One  day  a  farmer  went  with  his  bullocks  to  plow  his  field. 
He  had  just  turned  the  first  furrow,  when  a  tiger  walked  up  to 
him,  and  said  :  "  Peace  be  with  you,  friend  !  How  are  you  this 
fine  morning?  " 

"  The  same  to  you,  my  lord,  and  I  am  pretty  well,  thank 
you  !  "  returned  the  farmer,  quaking  with  fear,  but  thinking  it 
wisest  to  be  polite. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  the  tiger,  cheerfully,  "  be- 
cause Providence  has  sent  me  to  eat  your  two  bullocks.  You 
are  a  God-fearing  man,  I  know,  so  make  haste  and  unyoke 
them." 

"  My  friend,  are  you  sure  you  are  not  making  a  mistake  ?  " 
asked  the  farmer,  whose  courage  had  returned  now  that  he 
knew  it  was  merely  a  question  of  gobbling  up  bullocks ;  "  be- 
cause Providence  sent  me  to  plow  this  field,  and,  in  order  to 
plow,  one  must  have  oxen.  Had  you  not  better  go  and  make 
further  inquiries  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  delay,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to 
keep  you  waiting,"  returned  the  tiger.  "  If  you'll  unyoke  the 
bullocks,  I'll  be  ready  in  a  moment."  With  that  the  savage 
creature  fell  to  sharpening  his  teeth  and  claws  in  a  very  signifi- 
cant manner. 

But  the  farmer  begged  and  prayed  that  his  oxen  might  not 
be  eaten,  and  promised  that  if  the  tiger  would  spare  them  he 
would  give  in  exchange  a  fine,  fat  young  milch  cow,  which  his 
wife  had  tied  up  in  the  yard  at  home. 

To  this  the  tiger  agreed,  and,  taking  the  oxen  with  him,  the 
farmer  went  sadly  homewards.  Seeing  him  return  so  early  from 
the  fields,  his  wife,  who  was  a  stirring,  busy  woman,  called  out. 


HINDOO  APOLOtiUES.  233 

"What!  lazybones! — back  already,  and  my  work  just  begin- 
ning !  " 

Then  the  farmer  explained  how  he  had  met  the  tiger,  and 
how  to  save  the  bullocks  he  had  promised  the  milch  cow  in 
exchange.  At  this  the  wife  began  to  cry,  saying  :  "  A  likely 
story,  indeed !  —  saving  your  stupid  old  bullocks  at  the  ex- 
pense of  my  beautiful  cow  !  Where  will  the  children  get  milk  ? 
and  how  can  I  cook  my  pottage  and  coUops  without  butter  ?  " 

"  All  very  fine,  wife,"  retorted  the  farmer  ;  "  but  how  can 
we  make  bread  without  corn?  and  how  can  you  have  corn 
without  bullocks  to  plow  the  fields  ?  Pottage  and  collops  are 
very  nice,  but  it  is  better  to  do  without  milk  and  butter  than 
without  bread,  so  make  haste  and  untie  the  cow." 

"  You  great  gaby  !  "  wept  the  wife,  "  if  you  had  an  ounce  of 
sense  in  your  brain,  you'd  think  of  some  plan  to  get  out  of  the 
scrape  !  " 

"  Think  yourself !  "  cried  the  husband,  in  a  rage. 

"  Very  well  !  "  returned  the  wife ;  "  but  if  I  do  the  think- 
ing, you  must  obey  orders ;  I  can't  do  both.  Go  back  to  the 
tiger,  and  tell  him  the  cow  wouldn't  come  along  with  you,  but 
that  your  wife  is  bringing  it." 

The  farmer,  who  was  a  great  coward,  didn't  half  like  the 
idea  of  going  back  empty-handed  to  the  tiger,  but  as  he  could 
think  of  no  other  plan  he  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  found  the 
beast  still  sharpening  his  teeth  and  claws  for  very  hunger ;  and 
when  he  heard  he  had  to  wait  still  longer  for  his  dinner,  he 
began  to  prowl  about,  and  lash  his  tail  and  curl  his  whiskers  in 
a  most  terrible  manner,  causing  the  poor  farmer's  knees  to  knock 
together  with  terror. 

Now,  when  the  farmer  had  left  the  house,  his  wife  went  to 
the  stable  and  saddled  the  pony  ;  then  she  put  on  her  husband's 
best  clothes,  tied  the  turban  very  high,  so  as  to  make  her  look 
as  tall  as  possible,  bestrode  the  pony,  and  set  off  to  the  field 
where  the  tiger  was. 

She  rode  along,  swaggering  and  blustering,  till  she  came  to 
where  the  lane  turned  into  the  field,  and  then  she  called  out,  as 
bold  as  brass,  "  Now,  please  the  powers  !  I  may  find  a  tiger  in 
this  place  ;  for  I  haven't  tasted  tiger's  meat  since  yesterday, 
when,  as  luck  would  have  it,  I  ate  three  for  breakfast." 

Hearing  these  words,  and  seeing  the  speaker  ride  boldly  at 
him,  the  tiger  became  so  alarmed  that  he  turned  tail  and  bolted 
into  the  forest,  going  away  at  such  a  headlong  pace  that  he 


234  HINDOO  APOLOGUES. 

nearly  overturned  his  own  jackal ;  for  tigers  always  have  a 
jackal  of  their  own,  who,  as  it  were,  waits  at  table,  and  clears 
away  the  bones. 

"  My  lord  !  ray  lord  I  "  cried  the  jackal,  "  whither  away  so 
fast?" 

"  Run  !  run  !  "  panted  the  tiger  ;  "  there's  the  very  devil 
of  a  horseman  in  yonder  fields,  who  thinks  nothing  of  eating 
three  tigers  for  breakfast  !  " 

At  this  the  jackal  sniggered  in  his  sleeve.  "  My  dear  lord," 
said  he,  "  the  sun  has  dazzled  your  eyes  !  That  was  no  horse- 
man, but  only  the  farmer's  wife  dressed  up  as  a  man  I  " 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  "  asked  the  tiger,  pausing. 

"Quite  sure,  my  lord,"  repeated  the  jackal  ;  "and  if  your 
lordship's  eyes  had  not  been  dazzled  by  —  ahem  I  —  the  sun, 
your  lordship  would  have  seen  her  pigtail  hanging  down  be- 
hind." 

"  But  you  may  be  mistaken  !  "  persisted  the  cowardly  tiger  ; 
"  it  was  the  very  devil  of  a  horseman  to  look  at  !  " 

"  Who's  afraid  ?  "  replied  the  brave  jackal.  "  Come,  don't 
give  up  your  dinner  because  of  a  woman  !  " 

"  But  you  may  be  bribed  to  betray  me  !  "  argued  the  tiger, 
who,  like  all  cowards,  was  suspicious. 

"  Let  us  go  together,  then !  "  returned  the  gallant  jackal. 

"  Nay !  but  you  may  take  me  there  and  then  run  away  I  " 
insisted  the  tiger,  cunningly. 

"In  that  case,  let  us  tie  our  tails  together,  and  then  I 
can't !  "  The  jackal,  you  see,  was  determined  not  to  be  done 
out  of  his  bones. 

To  this  the  tiger  agreed,  and  having  tied  their  tails  to- 
gether in  a  reef  knot,  the  pair  set  off  arm  in  arm. 

Now  the  farmer  and  his  wife  had  remained  in  the  field, 
laughing  over  the  trick  she  had  played  on  the  tiger,  when,  lo 
and  behold  !  what  should  they  see  but  the  gallant  pair  coming 
back  ever  so  bravely,  with  their  tails  tied  together. 

"  Run  !  "  cried  the  farmer  ;   "  we  are  lost  !  we  are  lost !  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  you  great  gaby  !  "  answered  his  wife, 
coolly ;  "  if  you  will  only  stop  that  noise  and  be  quiet.  I  can't 
hear  myself  speak  !  " 

Then  she  waited  till  the  pair  were  within  hail,  when  she 
called  out  politely :  "  How  very  kind  of  you,  dear  Mr.  Jackal, 
to  bring  me  such  a  nice  fat  tiger!  I  shan't  be  a  moment 
finishing  my  share  of  him,  and  then  you  can  have  the  bones." 


HINDOO  APOLOGUES.  235 

At  these  words  the  tiger  became  wild  with  fright,  and  quite 
forgetting  the  jackal,  and  that  reef  knot  in  their  tails,  he  bolted 
away  full  tilt,  dragging  the  jackal  behind  him.  Bumpety, 
bump,  bump,  over  the  stones  !  —  crash,  scratch,  patch,  through 
the  briers  ! 

In  vain  the  poor  jackal  howled  and  shrieked  to  the  tiger  to 
stop, — the  noise  behind  him  only  frightened  the  coward  more  ; 
and  away  he  went,  helter-skelter,  hurry-scurry,  over  hill  and 
dale,  till  he  was  nearly  dead  with  fatigue,  and  the  jackal  was 
quite  dead  from  bumps  and  bruises. 


Moral  —  Don't  tie  your  tail  to  a  coward's. 


The  Tiger,  the  Brahman,  and  the  Jackal. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  tiger  was  caught  in  a  trap.  He  tried 
in  vain  to  get  out  through  the  bars,  and  rolled  and  bit  with 
rage  and  grief  when  he  failed. 

By  chance  a  poor  Brahman  came  by.  "  Let  me  out  of  this 
cage,  O  pious  one  !  "  cried  the  tiger. 

"  Nay,  my  friend,"  replied  the  Brahman,  mildly,  "  you  would 
probably  eat  me  if  I  did." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  swore  the  tiger,  with  many  oaths  ;  "  on  the 
contrary,  I  should  be  forever  grateful,  and  serve  you  as  a 
slave  I  " 

Now  when  the  tiger  sobbed  and  sighed  and  wept  and  swore, 
the  pious  Brahman's  heart  softened,  and  at  last  he  consented  to 
open  the  door  of  the  cage.  Out  popped  the  tiger,  and,  seizing 
the  poor  man,  cried  :  "  What  a  fool  you  are  !  What  is  to  pre- 
vent my  eating  you  now,  for  after  being  cooped  up  so  long  I 
am  just  terribly  hungry  !  " 

In  vain  the  Brahman  pleaded  for  his  life  ;  the  most  he 
could  gain  was  a  promise  to  abide  by  the  decision  of  the  first 
three  things  he  chose  to  question  as  to  the  justice  of  the  tiger's 
action. 

So  the  Brahman  first  as>;ed  a  pipal  tree  what  it  thought  of 
the  matter,  but  the  pipal  tree  replied  coldly  :  "  What  have  you 
to  complain  about?  Don't  I  give  shade  and  shelter  to  every 
one  who  passes  by,  and  don't  they  in  return  tear  down  my 
branches  to  feed  their  cattle  ?     Don't  whimper  —  be  a  man !  " 

Then  the  Brahman,  sad  at  heart,  went  farther  afield  till  he 


236  HINDOO   APOLOGUES. 

saw  a  buffalo  turning  a  well  wheel ;  but  he  fared  no  better 
from  it,  for  it  answered :  "  You  are  a  fool  to  expect  gratitude  ! 
Look  at  me !  While  I  gave  milk  they  fed  me  on  cotton  seed 
and  oil  cake,  but  now  I  am  dry  they  yoke  me  here,  and  give  me 
refuse  as  fodder  ! " 

The  Brahman,  still  more  sad,  asked  the  road  to  give  him  its 
opinion. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  the  road,  "how  foolish  you  are  to 
expect  anything  else  !  Here  am  I  useful  to  everybody,  yet  all, 
rich  and  poor,  great  and  small,  trample  on  me  as  they  go  past, 
giving  me  nothing  but  the  ashes  of  their  pipes  and  the  husks 
of  their  grain  !  " 

On  this  the  Brahman  turned  back  sorrowfully,  and  on  the 
way  he  met  a  jackal,  who  called  out :  "  Why,  what's  the  matter, 
Mr.  Brahman  ?     You  look  as  miserable  as  a  fish  out  of  water  !  " 

Then  the  Brahman  told  him  all  that  had  occurred.  "  How 
very  confusing  !  "  said  the  jackal,  when  the  recital  was  ended  ; 
"  would  you  mind  telling  me  over  again  ?  for  everything  seems 
so  mixed  up  !  " 

The  Brahman  told  it  all  over  again,  but  the  jackal  shook 
his  head  in  a  distracted  sort  of  way,  and  still  could  not  under- 
stand. 

"  It's  very  odd,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  but  it  all  seems  to  go  in  at 
one  ear  and  out  at  the  other  !  I  will  go  to  the  place  where  it 
all  happened,  and  then  perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  give  a  judg- 
ment." 

So  they  returned  to  the  cage,  by  which  the  tiger  was  wait- 
ing for  the  Brahman,  and  sharpening  his  teeth  and  claws. 

"  You've  been  away  a  long  time  !  "  growled  the  savage 
beast,  "but  now  let  us  begin  our  dinner." 

"  Our  dinner ! "  thought  the  wretched  Brahman,  as  his 
knees  knocked  together  with  fright ;  "  what  a  remarkably 
delicate  way  of  putting  it !  " 

"  Give  me  five  minutes,  my  lord  !  "  he  pleaded,  "  in  order 
that  I  may  explain  matters  to  the  jackal  here,  who  is  somewhat 
slow  in  his  wits." 

The  tiger  consented,  and  the  Brahman  began  the  whole 
story  over  again,  not  missing  a  single  detail,  and  spinning  as 
long  a  yarn  as  possible. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  brain !  oh,  my  poor  brain !  "  cried  the  jackal, 
wringing  his  paws.  "  Let  me  see  !  how  did  it  all  begin  ?  You 
were  in  the  cage,  and  the  tiger  came  walking  by " 


HINDOO  APOLOGUES.  237 

"  Pooh  !  "  interrupted  the  tiger,  "  what  a  fool  you  are  !     I 

was  in  the  cage." 

"  Of  course  !  "  cried  the  jackal,  pretending  to  tremble  with 
fright ;  "  yes  !  I  was  in  the  cage  —  no,  I  wasn't  —  dear  I  dear  ! 
where  are  my  wits  ?  Let  me  see  —  the  tiger  was  in  the  Brah- 
man, and  the  cage  came  walking  by— no,  that's  not  it  either! 
Well,  don't  mind  me,  but  begin  your  dinner,  for  I  shall  never 
understand  !  " 

"  Yes,  you  shall !  "  returned  the  tiger,  in  a  rage  at  the 
jackal's  stupidity  :  "  I'll  make  you  understand  !  Look  here  — 
I  am  the  tiger " 

"  Yes,  ray  lord !  " 

"  And  that  is  the  Brahman " 

"  Yes,  my  lord !  " 

"  And  that  is  the  cage " 

"  Yes,  my  lord  !  " 

"And  I  was  in  the  cage  —  do  you  understand?" 

«  Yes  —  no  —     Please,  my  lord " 

"Well?"  cried  the  tiger,  impatiently. 

"  Please,  my  lord  !  — how  did  you  get  in?  " 

u  How  !  —  why,  in  the  usual  way,  of  course  !  " 

"Oh,  dear  me !  —  my  head  is  beginning  to  whirl  again! 
Please  don't  be  angry,  my  lord,  but  what  is  the  usual  way  ?  " 

At  this  the  tiger  lost  patience,  and,  jumping  into  the  cage, 
cried,  "  This  way  !     Now  do  you  understand  how  it  was?  " 

"Perfectly!"  grinned  the  jackal,  as  he  dexterously  shut 
the  door;  "and  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so,  I  think 
matters  will  remain  as  they  were  !  " 

The  Barber's  Clever  Wlfe. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  barber,  who  was  such  a  poor 
silly  creature  that  he  couldn't  even  ply  his  trade  decently,  but 
snipped  off  his  customers'  ears  instead  of  their  hair,  and  cut 
their  throats  instead  of  shaving  them.  So  of  course  he  grew 
poorer  every  day,  till  at  last  he  found  himself  with  nothing  lett 
in  his  house  but  his  wife  and  his  razor,  both  of  whom  were  as 
sharp  as  sharp  could  be. 

For  his  wife  was  an  exceedingly  clever  person,  who  was 
continually  rating  her  husband  for  his  stupidity;  and  when 
she  saw  they  hadn't  a  farthing  left,  she  fell  as  usual  to 
scolding. 


238  HINDOO  APOLOGUES. 

But  the  barber  took  it  very  cahuly.  "  What  is  the  use  of 
making  such  a  fuss,  my  dear  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  you've  told  me  all 
this  before,  and  I  quite  agree  with  you.  I  never  did  work,  I 
never  could  work,  and  I  never  will  work.     That  is  the  fact !  " 

"  Then  you  must  beg  !  "  returned  his  wife,  "  for  I  will  not 
starve  to  please  you  !  Go  to  the  palace  and  beg  something  of 
the  King.  There  is  a  wedding  feast  going  on,  and  he  is  sure 
to  give  alms  to  the  poor." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  !  "  said  the  barber,  submissively.  He 
was  rather  afraid  of  his  clever  wife,  so  he  did  as  he  was  bid, 
and  going  to  the  palace,  begged  of  the  King  to  give  him 
something. 

"  Something?  "  asked  the  King  ;  "  what  thing?" 

Now  the  barber's  wife  had  not  mentioned  anything  in  par- 
ticular, and  the  barber  was  far  too  addle-pated  to  think  of  any- 
thing by  himself,  so  he  answered  cautiously,  "  Oh,  something ! " 

"  Will  a  piece  of  land  do  ?  "  said  the  King. 

Whereupon  the  lazy  barber,  glad  to  be  helped  out  of  the 
difficulty,  remarked  that  perhaps  a  piece  of  land  would  do  as 
well  as  anything  else. 

Then  the  King  ordered  a  piece  of  waste  outside  the  city 
should  be  given  to  the  barber,  who  went  home  quite  satisfied. 

"Well!  what  did  you  get?"  asked  the  clever  wife,  who 
was  waiting  impatiently  for  his  return.  "  Give  it  me  quick, 
that  I  may  go  and  buy  bread  !  " 

And  you  may  imagine  how  she  scolded  when  she  found  he 
had  only  got  a  piece  of  waste  land. 

"But  land  is  land  !"  remonstrated  the  barber;  "it  can't 
run  away,  so  we  must  always  have  something  now !  " 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  dunderhead?"  raged  the  clever 
wife.  "  What  good  is  ground  unless  we  can  till  it  ?  and  where 
are  we  to  get  bullocks  and  plows  ?  " 

But  being,  as  we  have  said,  an  exceedingly  clever  person, 
she  set  her  wits  to  work,  and  soon  thought  of  a  plan  whereby 
to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain. 

She  took  her  husband  with  her,  and  set  off  to  the  piece  of 
waste  land ;  then,  bidding  her  husband  imitate  her,  she  began 
walking  about  the  field,  and  peering  anxiously  into  the  ground. 
But  when  anybody  came  that  way,  she  would  sit  down  and 
pretend  to  be  doing  nothing  at  all. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  seven  thieves  were  hiding  in  a 
thicket  hard  by,  and  they  watched  the  barber  and  his  wife 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  239 

all  day  until  they  became  convinced  something  mysterious  was 
going  on.  So  at  sunset  they  sent  one  of  their  number  to  try 
and  tind  out  what  it  was.  o        r        ■,      ^^ 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  said  the  barber's  wife,  after  beating 
about  the 'bush  for  some  time,  and  with  many  injunctions  to 
strict  secrecy,  "this  field  belonged  to  my  grandfather,  who 
buried  five  pots  full  of  gold  in  it,  and  we  were  just  trying  to 
discover  the  exact  spot  before  beginning  to  dig.  You  won  t 
tell  any  one,  will  you?" 

The  thief  promised  he  wouldn't,  of  course,  but  the  moment 
the  barber  and  his  wife  went  home,  he  called  his  companions, 
and  telling  them  of  the  hidden  treasure,  set  them  to  work. 
All  night  long  they  dug  and  delved,  till  the  field  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  plowed  seven  times  over,  and  they  were  as  tired 
as  tired  could  be ;  but  never  a  gold  piece,  nor  a  silver  piece, 
nor  a  farthing  did  they  find,  so  when  dawn  came  they  went 
away  disgusted. 

The  barber's  wife,  when  she  found  the  field  so  beautifully 
plowed,  laughed  heartily  at  the  success  of  her  stratagem,  and 
going  to  the  corn  dealer's  shop,  borrowed  some  rice  to  sow  in 
the  field.  This  the  corn  dealer  willingly  gave  her,  for  he 
reckoned  he  would  get  it  back  threefold  at  harvest  time.  And 
so  he  did,  for  never  was  there  such  a  crop  !  —the  barber's  wife 
paid  her  debts,  kept  enough  for  the  house,  and  sold  the  rest 
for  a  great  crock  of  gold  pieces. 

Now,  when  the  thieves  saw  this,  they  were  very  angry  indeed, 
and  going  to  the  barber's  house,  said,  "  Give  us  our  share  of  the 
harvest,  for  we  tilled  the  ground,  as  you  very  well  know." 

"I  told  you  there  was  gold  in  the  ground,"  laughed  the 
barber's  wife,  "but  you  didn't  find  it.  I  have,  and  there's  a 
crock  full  of  it  in  the  house,  only  you  rascals  shall  never  have 
a  farthing  of  it !  " 

"  Very  well !  "  said  the  thieves  ;  "  look  out  for  yourself  to- 
night.    If  you  won't  give  us  our  share,  we'll  take  it !  " 

So  that  night  one  of  the  thieves  hid  himself  in  the  house, 
intending  to  open  the  door  to  his  comrades  when  the  house  folk 
were  asleep ;  but  the  barber's  wife  saw  him  with  the  corner  of 
her  eye,  and  determined  to  lead  him  a  dance.  Therefore,  when 
her  husband,  who  was  in  a  dreadful  state  of  alarm,  asked  her 
what  she  had  done  with  the  gold  pieces,  she  replied,  "  Put  them 
where  no  one  will  find  them  — under  the  ^sweetmeats,  in  the 
crock  that  stands  in  the  niche  by  the  door." 


240  HINDOO  APOLOGUES. 

The  thief  chuckled  at  hearing  this,  and  after  waiting  till  all 
was  quiet,  he  crept  out,  and  feeling  about  for  the  crock,  made 
off  with  it,  whispering  to  his  comrades  that  he  had  got  the 
prize.  Fearing  pursuit,  they  fled  to  a  thicket,  where  they  sat 
down  to  divide  the  spoil. 

"  She  said  there  were  sweetmeats  on  the  top,"  said  the 
thief  ;  "  I  will  divide  them  first,  and  then  we  can  eat  them,  for 
it  is  hungry  work,  this  waiting  and  watching." 

So  he  divided  what  he  thought  were  the  sweetmeats  as  well 
as  he  could  in  the  dark.  Now  in  reality  the  crock  was  full  of 
all  sorts  of  horrible  things  that  the  barber's  wife  had  put  there 
on  purpose,  and  so  when  the  thieves  crammed  its  contents  into 
their  mouths,  you  may  imagine  what  faces  they  made  and  how 
they  vowed  revenge. 

But  when  they  returned  next  day  to  threaten  and  repeat 
their  claim  to  a  share  of  the  crop,  the  barber's  wife  only 
laughed  at  them. 

"  Have  a  care  !  "  they  cried  ;  "  twice  you  have  fooled  us  — 
once  by  making  us  dig  all  night,  and  next  by  feeding  us  on 
filth  and  breaking  our  caste.     It  will  be  our  turn  to-night !  " 

Then  another  thief  hid  himself  in  the  house,  but  the  barber's 
wife  saw  him  with  half  an  eye,  and  when  her  husband  asked, 
"  What  have  you  done  with  the  gold,  my  dear  ?  I  hope  you 
haven't  put  it  under  the  pillow  ? "  she  answered,  "  Don't  be 
alarmed;  it  is  out  of  the  house.  I  have  hung  it  in  the  branches 
of  the  7iim  tree  outside.  No  one  will  think  of  looking  for  it 
there !  " 

The  hidden  thief  chuckled,  and  when  the  house  folk  were 
asleep  he  slipped  out  and  told  his  companions. 

"  Sure  enough,  there  it  is  !  "  cried  the  captain  of  the  band, 
peering  up  into  the  branches.  "  One  of  you  go  up  and  fetch 
it  down."  Now  what  he  saw  was  really  a  hornets'  nest,  full  of 
great  big  brown  and  yellow  hornets. 

So  one  of  the  thieves  climbed  up  the  tree ;  but  when  he 
came  close  to  the  nest,  and  was  just  reaching  up  to  take  hold 
of  it,  a  hornet  flew  out  and  stung  him  on  the  thigh.  He  imme- 
diately clapped  his  hand  to  the  spot. 

"  Oh,  you  thief !  "  cried  out  the  rest  from  below,  "  you're 
pocketing  the  gold  pieces,  are  you  ?  Oh !  shabby  !  shabby  !  " 
—  For  you  see  it  was  very  dark,  and  when  the  poor  man 
clapped  his  hand  to  the  place  where  he  had  been  stung,  they 
thought  he  was  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  241 

"  I  assure  you  I'm  not  doing  anything  of  the  kind  !  "  re- 
torted the  thief ;  "  but  there  is  something  that  bites  in  this 
tree  !  " 

Just  at  that  moment  another  hornet  stung  him  on  the 
breast,  and  he  clapped  his  hand  there. 

"  Fie  !  fie,  for  shame  I  We  saw  you  do  it  that  time  !  "  cried 
the  rest.  "Just  you  stop  that  at  once,  or  we  will  make 
you!" 

So  they  sent  up  another  thief,  but  he  fared  no  better,  for 
by  this  time  the  hornets  were  thoroughly  roused,  and  they 
stung  the  poor  man  all  over,  so  that  he  kept  clapping  his  hands 
here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

"  Shame  !  Shabby  !  Ssh-sh  !  "  bawled  the  rest ;  and  then 
one  after  another  they  climbed  into  the  tree,  determined  to 
share  the  booty,  and  one  after  another  began  clapping  their 
hands  about  their  bodies,  till  it  came  to  the  captain's  turn. 
Then  he,  intent  on  having  the  prize,  seized  hold  of  the  hornets' 
nest,  and  as  the  branch  on  which  they  were  all  standing  broke 
at  the  selfsame  moment,  they  all  came  tumbling  down  with 
the  hornets'  nest  on  top  of  them.  And  then,  in  spite  of  bumps 
and  bruises,  you  can  imagine  what  a  stampede  there  was ! 

After  this  the  barber's  wife  had  some  peace,  for  every  one 
of  the  seven  thieves  was  in  hospital.  In  fact,  they  were  laid 
up  for  so  long  a  time  that  she  began  to  think  that  they  were 
never  coming  back  again,  and  ceased  to  be  on  the  lookout. 
But  she  was  wrong,  for  one  night,  when  she  had  left  the 
window  open,  she  was  awakened  by  whisperings  outside,  and 
at  once  recognized  the  thieves'  voices.  She  gave  herself  up 
for  lost ;  but,  determined  not  to  yield  without  a  struggle,  she 
seized  her  husband's  razor,  crept  to  the  side  of  the  window, 
and  stood  quite  still.  By  and  by  the  first  thief  began  to  creep 
through  cautiously.  She  just  waited  till  the  tip  of  his  nose 
was  visible,  and  then,  flash !  —  she  sliced  it  off  with  the  razor 
as  clean  as  a  whistle. 

"  Confound  it !  "  yelled  the  thief,  drawing  back  mighty 
quick  ;  "  I've  cut  my  nose  on  something  !  " 

"  Hush-sh-sh-sh  !  "  whispered  the  others,  "  you'll  wake  some 
one.     Go  on  !  " 

"  Not  I !  "  said  the  thief ;  "  I'm  bleeding  like  a  pig  !  " 

"  Pooh !  —  knocked  your  nose  against  the  shutter,  I  sup- 
pose," returned  the  second  thief.     "  I'll  go  !  " 

But,  swish !  —  off  went  the  tip  of  his  nose  too. 


242  HINDOO   APOLOGUES. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  he,  ruefully,  "  there  certainly  is  something 
sharp  inside !  " 

"  A  bit  of  bamboo  in  the  lattice,  most  likely,"  remarked 
the  third  thief.     "  I'll  go  !  " 

And,  flick  !  —  off  went  his  nose  too. 

"  It  is  most  extraordinary  !  "  he  exclaimed,  hurriedly  retir- 
ing ;  "  I  feel  exactly  as  if  some  one  had  cut  the  tip  of  my  nose 
off!" 

"  Rubbish  !  "  said  the  fourth  thief.  "  What  cowards  you 
all  are  !     Let  me  go  !  " 

But  he  fared  no  better,  nor  the  fifth  thief,  nor  the  sixth. 

"  My  friends !  "  said  the  captain,  when  it  came  to  his  turn, 
"  you  are  all  disabled.  One  man  must  remain  unhurt  to  pro- 
tect the  wounded.  Let  us  return  another  night."  —  He  was  a 
cautious  man,  you  see,  and  valued  his  nose- 
So  they  crept  away  sulkily,  and  the  barber's  wife  lit  a  lamp, 
and  gathering  up  all  the  nose  tips,  put  them  away  safely  in  a 
little  box. 

Now  before  the  robbers'  noses  were  healed  over,  the  hot 
weather  set  in,  and  the  barber  and  his  wife,  finding  it  warm 
sleeping  in  the  house,  put  their  beds  outside ;  for  they  made 
sure  the  thieves  would  not  return.  But  they  did,  and  seizing 
such  a  good  opportunity  for  revenge,  they  lifted  up  the  wife's 
bed,  and  carried  her  off  fast  asleep.  She  woke  to  find  herself 
borne  along  on  the  heads  of  four  of  the  thieves,  whilst  the 
other  three  ran  beside  her.  She  gave  herself  up  for  lost,  and 
though  she  thought,  and  thought,  and  thought,  she  could  find 
no  way  of  escape ;  till,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  robbers 
paused  to  take  breath  under  a  banyan  tree.  Quick  as  light- 
ning, she  seized  hold  of  a  branch  that  was  within  reach,  and 
swung  herself  into  the  tree,  leaving  her  quilt  on  the  bed  just 
as  if  she  were  still  in  it. 

"  Let  us  rest  a  bit  here,"  said  the  thieves  who  were  carry- 
ing the  bed  ;  "  there  is  plenty  of  time,  and  we  are  tired.  She 
is  dreadfully  heavy  !  " 

The  barber's  wife  could  hardly  help  laughing,  but  she  had 
to  keep  very  still,  for  it  was  a  bright  moonlight  night ;  and  the 
robbers,  after  setting  down  their  burden,  began  to  squabble  as 
to  who  should  take  first  watch.  At  last  they  determined  that 
it  should  be  the  captain,  for  the  others  had  really  barely  re- 
covered from  the  shock  of  having  their  noses  sliced  off ;  so 
they  lay  down  to  sleep,  while  the  captain  walked  up  and  down, 


HINDOO  APOLOGUES.  243 

watching  the  bed,  and  the  barber's  wife  sat  perched  up  in  the 
tree  like  a  great  bird. 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  into  her  head,  and  drawing  her 
white  veil  becomingly  over  her  face,  she  began  to  sing  softly. 
The  robber  captain  looked  up,  and  saw  the  veiled  figure  of  a 
woman  in  the  tree.  Of  course  he  was  a  little  surprised,  but 
being  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  and  rather  vain  of  his  ap- 
pearance, he  jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a 
fairy  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  handsome  face.  For 
fairies  do  such  things  sometimes,  especially  on  moonlight 
nio-hts.  So  he  twirled  his  mustaches,  and  strutted  about, 
waiting  for  her  to  speak.  But  when  she  went  on  singing,  and 
took  no  notice  of  him,  he  stopped  and  called  out:  "Come  down, 
my  beauty !     I  won't  hurt  you  !  " 

But  still  she  went  on  singing  ;  so  he  climbed  up  into  the 
tree,  determined  to  attract  her  attention.  When  he  came  quite 
close,  she  turned  away  her  head  and  sighed. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  beauty?"  he  asked  tenderly. 
"  Of  course  you  are  a  fairy,  and  have  fallen  in  love  with  me, 
but  there  is  nothing  to  sigh  at  in  that,  surely  ?  " 

"Ah  —  ah  —  ah!  "  said  the  barber's  wife,  with  another  sigh, 
"  I  believe  you're  fickle  I  Men  with  long-pointed  noses  always 
are  !  " 

But  the  robber  captain  swore  he  was  the  most  constant  of 
men;  yet  still  the  fairy  sighed  and  sighed,  until  he  almost 
wished  his  nose  had  been  shortened  too. 

"  You  are  telling  stories,  I  am  sure !  "  said  the  pretended 
fairy.  "  Just  let  me  touch  your  tongue  with  the  tip  of  mine, 
and  then  I  shall  be  able  to  taste  if  there  are  fibs  about  I  " 

So  the  robber  captain  put  out  his  tongue,  and  snip  !  —  the 
barber's  wife  bit  the  tip  off  clean  ! 

What  with  the  fright  and  the  pain,  he  tumbled  off  the  branch, 
and  fell  bump  on  the  ground,  where  he  sat  with  his  legs  very 
wide  apart,  looking  as  if  he  had  come  from  the  skies. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  his  comrades,  awakened  by  the 
noise  of  his  fall. 

'^  Bul-ul-a-hul-ul-ul ! "  answered  he,  pointing  up  into  the 
tree  ;  for  of  course  he  could  not  speak  plainly  without  the  tip 
of  his  tongue. 

"  What  —  is  —  the  —  matter  ?  "  they  bawled  in  his  ear,  as  if 
that  would  do  any  good. 

"  Bul-ul-a-hul-ul-ul !  "  said  he,  still  pointing  upwards. 


244  HINDOO   APOLOGUES. 

"  The  man  is  bewitched  !  "  cried  one ;  "  there  must  be  a 
ghost  in  the  tree  !  " 

Just  then  the  barber's  wife  began  flapping  her  veil  and  howl- 
ing ;  whereupon,  without  waiting  to  look,  the  thieves  in  a  ter- 
rible fright  set  off  at  a  run,  dragging  their  leader  with  them ; 
and  the  barber's  wife,  coming  down  from  the  tree,  put  her  bed 
on  her  head,  and  walked  quietly  home. 

After  this,  the  thieves  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  no 
use  trying  to  gain  their  point  by  force,  so  they  went  to  law  to 
claim  their  share.  But  the  barber's  wife  pleaded  her  own  cause 
so  well,  bringing  out  the  nose  and  tongue  tips  as  witnesses, 
that  the  King  made  the  barber  his  Wazir,  saying,  "  He  will 
never  do  a  foolish  thing  as  long  as  his  wife  is  alive  !  " 

The  King  who  was  Fried. 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  very  long  time  ago  indeed,  there  lived 
a  King  who  had  made  a  vow  never  to  eat  bread  or  break  his  fast 
until  he  had  given  away  a  hundredweight  of  gold  in  charity. 

So  every  day,  before  King  Karan  —  for  that  was  his  name 

—  had  his  breakfast,  the  palace  servants  would  come  out  with 
baskets  and  baskets  of  gold  pieces  to  scatter  amongst  the 
crowds  of  poor  folk,  who,  you  may  be  sure,  never  forgot  to 
be  there  to  receive  the  alms.  How  they  used  to  hustle  and 
bustle  and  struggle  and  scramble !  Then,  when  the  last 
golden  piece  had  been  fought  for,  King  Karan  would  sit  down 
to  his  breakfast,  and  enjoy  it  as  a  man  who  has  kept  his  word 
should  do. 

Now,  when  people  saw  the  King  lavishing  his  gold  in  this 
fashion,  they  naturally  thought  that  sooner  or  later  the  royal 
treasuries  must  give  out,  the  gold  come  to  an  end,  and  the  King 

—  who  was  evidently  a  man  of  his  word  —  die  of  starvation. 
But,  though  months  and  years  passed  by,  every  day,  just  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  breakfast  time,  the  servants  came  out 
of  the  palace  with  baskets  and  baskets  of  gold ;  and  as  the 
crowds  dispersed  they  could  see  the  King  sitting  down  to  his 
breakfast  in  the  royal  banqueting  hall,  as  jolly  and  fat  and 
hungry  as  could  be. 

Now,  of  course,  there  was  some  secret  in  all  this,  and  this 
secret  I  shall  now  tell  you.  King  Karan  had  made  a  compact 
with  a  holy  and  very  hungry  old  faqir^  who  lived  at  the  top  of 
the  hill ;  and  the  compact  was  this  :  On  condition  of  King  Karan 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  245 

allowing  himself  to  be  fried  and  eaten  for  breakfast  every  day, 
the  faqir  gave  him  a  hundredweight  of  pure  gold. 

Of  course,  had  t\\Q  faqir  been  an  ordinary  sort  of  person,  the 
compact  would  not  have  lasted  long,  for  once  King  Karan  had 
been  fried  and  eaten,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter. But  the  faqir  was  a  very  remarkable  faqir  indeed ;  and 
when  he  had  eaten  the  King,  and  picked  the  bones  quite  clean, 
he  just  put  them  together,  said  a  charm  or  two,  and,  hey  presto  ! 
there  was  King  Karan  as  fat  and  jolly  as  ever,  ready  for  the 
next  morning's  breakfast.  In  fact,  the  faqir  made  no  hones  at 
all  over  the  affair,  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  very  con- 
venient both  for  the  breakfast  and  the  breakfast  eater.  Never- 
theless, it  was,  of  course,  not  pleasant  to  be  popped  alive  every 
morning  into  a  great  frying  pan  of  boiling  oil ;  and  for  my 
part,  I  think  King  Karan  earned  his  hundredweight  of  gold 
handsomely.  But  after  a  time  he  got  accustomed  to  the  pro- 
cess, and  would  go  up  quite  cheerfully  to  the  holy  and  hungry 
one's  house,  where  the  biggest  frying  pan  was  spitting  and 
sputtering  over  the  sacred  fire.  Then  he  would  just  pass  the 
time  of  day  to  the  faqir^  to  make  sure  he  was  punctual,  and 
step  gracefully  into  his  hot  oil  bath.  My  goodness!  how  he 
sizzled  and  fizzled !  When  he  was  crisp  and  brown,  the  faqir 
ate  him,  picked  the  bones,  set  them  together,  sang  a  charm,  and 
finished  the  business  by  bringing  out  his  dirty  old  ragged  coat, 
which  he  shook  and  shook,  while  the  bright  golden  pieces  came 
tumbling  out  of  the  pockets  on  to  the  floor. 

So  that  was  the  way  King  Karan  got  his  gold,  and  if  you 
think  it  very  extraordinary,  so  do  I ! 

Now,  in  the  great  Mansarobar  Lake,  where,  as  of  course  you 
know,  all  the  wild  swans  live  when  they  leave  us,  and  feed  upon 
seed  pearls,  there  was  a  great  famine.  Pearls  were  so  scarce 
that  one  pair  of  swans  determined  to  go  out  into  the  world  and 
seek  for  food.  So  they  flew  into  King  Bikramajit's  garden,  at 
Ujjayin.  Now,  when  the  gardener  saw  the  beautiful  birds,  he 
was  delighted,  and,  hoping  to  induce  them  to  stay,  he  threw 
them  grain  to  eat.  But  they  would  not  touch  it,  nor  any  other 
food  he  offered  them ;  so  he  went  to  his  master,  and  told  him 
there  were  a  pair  of  swans  in  the  garden  who  refused  to  eat 
anything. 

Then  King  Bikramajit  went  out,  and  asked  them  in  birds' 
language  (for,  as  every  one  knows,  Bikramajit  understood  both 
beasts  and  birds)  why  it  was  that  they  ate  nothing. 


246  HINDOO   APOLOGUES. 

"  We  don't  eat  grain !  "  said  they,  "  nor  fruit,  nor  anything 
but  fresh,  unpierced  pearls  .  " 

Whereupon  King  Bikramajit,  being  very  kind-hearted,  sent 
for  a  basket  of  pearls ;  and  every  day,  when  he  came  into  the 
garden,  he  fed  the  swans  with  his  own  hand. 

But  one  day,  when  he  was  feeding  them  as  usual,  one  of  the 
pearls  happened  to  be  pierced.  The  dainty  swans  found  it  out 
at  once,  and  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  King  Bikramajit's 
supply  of  pearls  was  running  short,  they  made  up  their  minds 
to  go  farther  afield.  So,  despite  his  entreaties,  they  spread 
their  broad  white  wings,  and  flew  up  into  the  blue  sky,  their 
outstretched  necks  pointing  straight  towards  home  on  the  great 
Mansarobar  Lake.  Yet  they  were  not  ungrateful,  for  as  they 
flew  they  sang  the  praises  of  Bikramajit. 

Now,  King  Karan  was  watching  his  servants  bring  out  the 
baskets  of  gold,  when  the  wild  swans  came  flying  over  his  head  ; 
and  when  he  heard  them  singing,  "  Glory  to  Bikramajit !  glory 
to  Bikramajit !  "  he  said  to  himself  :  "  Who  is  this  whom  even 
the  birds  praise  ?  I  let  myself  be  fried  and  eaten  every  day,  in 
order  that  I  may  be  able  to  give  away  a  hundredweight  of  gold 
in  charity,  yet  no  swan  sings  my  song  !  " 

So,  being  jealous,  he  sent  for  a  bird  catcher,  who  snared  the 
poor  swans  with  lime,  and  put  them  in  a  cage. 

Then  Karan  hung  the  cage  in  the  palace,  and  ordered  his 
servants  to  bring  every  kind  of  birds'  food;  but  the  proud 
swans  only  curved  their  white  necks  in  scorn,  saying,  "  Glory 
to  Bikramajit !  — he  gave  us  pearls  to  eat !  " 

Then  King  Karan,  determined  not  to  be  outdone,  sent 
for  pearls ;  but  still  the  scornful  swans  would  not  touch  any- 
thing. 

"  Why  will  ye  not  eat  ?  "  quoth  King  Karan,  wrathf ully  j 
"am  I  not  as  generous  as  Bikramajit?" 

Then  the  swan's  wife  answered,  and  said,  "  Kings  do  not 
imprison  the  innocent.  Kings  do  not  war  against  women.  If 
Bikramajit  were  here,  he  would  at  any  rate  let  me  go !  " 

So  Karan,  not  to  be  outdone  in  generosity,  let  the  swan's 
wife  go,  and  she  spread  her  broad  white  wings  and  flew  south- 
wards to  Bikramajit,  and  told  him  how  her  husband  lay  a 
prisoner  at  the  court  of  King  Karan. 

Of  course  BikramS,jit,  who  was,  as  every  one  knows,  the 
most  generous  of  kings,  determined  to  release  the  poor  captive  ; 
and  bidding  the  swan  fly  back  and  rejoin  her  mate,  he  put  on 


HINDOO   APOLOGUES.  247 

the  garb  of  a  servant,  and  taking  the  name  of  Bikrft,  journeyed 
northwards  till  he  came  to  King  Karan's  kingdom.  Then  he 
took  service  with  the  King,  and  helped  every  day  to  carry  out 
the  baskets  of  golden  pieces.  He  soon  saw  there  was  some 
secret  in  King  Karan's  endless  wealth,  and  never  rested  until 
he  had  found  it  out.  So,  one  day,  hidden  close  by,  he  saw 
King  Karan  enter  the  faqirs  liouse  and  pop  into  the  boiling 
oil.  He  saw  him  frizzle  and  sizzle,  he  saw  him  come  out  crisp 
and  brown,  he  saw  the  hungry  and  holy  faqir  pick  the  bones, 
and,  finally,  he  saw  King  Karan,  fat  and  jolly  as  ever,  go  down 
the  mountain  side  with  his  hundredweight  of  gold ! 

Then  Bikru  knew  what  to  do  I  So  the  very  next  day  he 
rose  very  early,  and  taking  a  carving  knife,  he  slashed  himself 
all  over.  Next  he  took  some  pepper  and  salt,  spices,  pounded 
pomegranate  seeds,  and  pea  Hour  ;  these  he  mixed  together  into 
a  beautiful  curry  stuff,  and  rubbed  himself  all  over  with  it  — 
right  into  the  cuts  in  spite  of  the  smarting.  When  he  thought 
he  was  quite  ready  for  cooking,  he  just  went  up  the  hill  to  the 
faqir's  house,  and  popped  into  the  frying  pan.  The  faqir  was 
still  asleep,  but  he  soon  awoke  with  the  sizzling  and  the  fizzling,^ 
and  said  to  himself,  "  Dear  me  !  how  uncommonly  nice  the  King 
smells  this  morning  !  " 

Indeed,  so  appetizing  was  the  smell,  that  he  could  hardly 
wait  until  the  King  was  crisp  and  brown,  but  then  —  oh,  my 
goodness !  how  he  gobbled  him  up  ! 

You  see,  he  had  been  eating  plain  fried  so  long  that  a 
deviled  king  was  quite  a  change.  He  picked  the  bones  ever 
so  clean,  and  it  is  my  belief  would  have  eaten  them  too,  if  he 
liad  not  been  afraid  of  killing  the  goose  that  laid  the  golden 
eggs. 

Then,  when  it  was  all  over,  he  put  the  King  together  again, 
and  said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  What  a  breakfast  that  was,  to 
be  sure  I  Tell  me  how  you  managed  to  taste  so  nice,  and  I'll 
give  you  anything  you  ask." 

Whereupon  Bikrii  told  him  the  way  it  was  done,  and  prom- 
ised to  devil  himself  every  morning,  if  he  might  have  the  old 
coat  in  return.  "  For,"  said  he,  "it  is  not  pleasant  to  be  fried  ! 
and  I  don't  see  why  I  should  in  addition  have  the  trouble  of 
carry  ing  a  hundredweight  of  gold  to  the  palace  every  day.  Now, 
if  /  keep  the  coat,  I  can  shake  it  down  there." 

To  this  the  faqir  agreed,  and  off  went  Bikrft  with  the 
coat. 


248  HINDOO   APOLOGUES. 

Meanwhile  King  Karan  came  toiling  up  the  hill,  and  was 
surprised,  when  he  entered  the  faqirs  house,  to  find  the  fire 
out,  the  frying  pan  put  away,  and  the  faqir  himself  as  holy  as 
ever,  but  not  in  the  least  hungry. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  faltered  the  King. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  faqir ^  who,  to  begin  with,  was 
somewhat  short-sighted,  and  in  addition  felt  drowsy  after  his 
heavy  meal. 

"  Who !  Why,  I'm  King  Karan,  come  to  be  fried !  Don't 
you  want  your  breakfast  ?  " 

"  I've  had  my  breakfast  !  "  sighed  the  faqir,  regretfully. 
"You  tasted  very  nice  when  you  were  deviled,  I  can  assure 
you  !  " 

"  I  never  was  deviled  in  my  life  !  "  shouted  the  King ;  "  you 
must  have  eaten  somebody  else  !  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  saying  to  myself !  "  returned  the 
faqir,  sleepily  ;  "  I  thought  —  it  couldn't  —  be  only —  the  spices 
—  that "     Snore,  snore,  snore ! 

"  Look  here !  "  cried  King  Karan,  in  a  rage,  shaking  the 
^ faqir,  "you  must  eat  me  too!  " 

"  Couldn't  I  "  nodded  the  holy  but  satisfied /ag-ir,  "really  — 
not  another  morsel  —  no,  thanks  !  " 

"  Then  give  me  my  gold  I  "  shrieked  King  Karan  ;  "  you're 
bound  to  do  that,  for  I'm  ready  to  fulfil  my  part  of  the 
contract !  " 

"  Sorry  I  can't  oblige,  but  the  devil  —  I  mean  the  other 
person  —  went  off  with  the  coat !  "  nodded  the  faqir. 

Hearing  this,  King  Karan  returned  home  in  despair  and 
ordered  the  royal  treasurer  to  send  him  gold ;  so  that  day  he 
ate  his  breakfast  in  peace. 

And  the  next  day  also,  by  ransacking  all  the  private 
treasuries,  a  hundredweight  of  gold  was  forthcoming ;  so  King 
Karan  ate  his  breakfast  as  usual,  though  his  heart  was  gloomy. 

But  the  third  day,  the  royal  treasurer  arrived  with  empty 
hands,  and,  casting  himself  on  the  ground,  exclaimed,  "  May 
it  please  your  majesty !  there  is  not  any  more  gold  in  your 
majesty's  domains !  " 

Then  King  Karan  went  solemnly  to  bed,  without  any  break- 
fast, and  the  crowd,  after  waiting  for  hours  expecting  to  see  the 
palace  doors  open  and  the  servants  come  out  with  the  baskets 
of  gold,  melted  away,  saying  it  was  a  great  shame  to  deceivs 
poor  folk  in  that  way  ! 


OGRES  OF  HINDOO  DEMONOLOGY.  249 

By  dinner  time  poor  King  Karan  was  visibly  thinner ;  but 
he  was  a  man  of  his  word,  and  though  the  wily  BikrCl  came  and 
tried  to  persuade  him  to  eat,  by  saying  he  could  not  possibly 
be  blamed,  he  shook  his  head,  and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

Then  Bikrti,  or  Bikramajit,  took  the  faqir's  old  coat,  and, 
shaking  it  before  the  King,  said,  "  Take  the  money,  my  friend ; 
and  what  is  more,  if  you  will  set  the  wild  swans  you  have  in 
that  cage  at  liberty,  I  will  give  you  the  coat  into  the  bargain  !  " 

So  King  Karan  set  the  wild  swans  at  liberty;  and  as  the 
pair  of  them  flew  away  to  the  great  MS,nsarobar  Lake,  they 
sang  as  they  went,  "Glory  to  Bikramajit!  the  generous 
Bikramajit !  " 

Then  King  Karan  hung  his  head,  and  said  to  himself,  "  The 
swans'  song  is  true !  —  Bikram§,jit  is  more  generous  than  I ; 
for  if  I  was  fried  for  the  sake  of  a  hundredweight  of  gold  and 
my  breakfast,  he  wa^  deviled  in  order  to  set  a  bird  at  liberty  !  " 


OGRES   OF  HINDOO   DEMONOLOGY. 

By  J.  T.  BUNCE. 

Those  famous  Hindu  demons,  the  Rakshas,  are  the  origi- 
nals of  all  the  ogres  and  giants  of  our  nursery  tales.  Now  the 
Rakshas  were  very  terrible  creatures  indeed,  and  in  the  minds 
of  many  people  in  India  are  so  still,  for  they  are  believed  in 
even  now.  Their  natural  form,  so  the  stories  say,  is  that  of 
huge,  unshapely  giants,  like  clouds,  with  hair  and  beard  of  the 
color  of  the  red  lightning  ;  but  they  can  take  any  form  they 
please,  to  deceive  those  whom  they  wish  to  devour  —  for  their 
great  delight,  like  that  of  the  ogres,  is  to  kill  all  they  meet,  and 
to  eat  the  flesh  of  those  whom  they  kill.  Often  they  appear  as 
hunters,  of  monstrous  size,  with  tusks  instead  of  teeth,  and  with 
horns  on  their  heads,  and  all  kinds  of  grotesque  and  frightful 
weapons  and  ornaments.  They  are  very  strong,  and  make 
themselves  stronger  by  various  arts  of  magic  ;  and  they  are 
strongest  of  all  at  nightfall,  when  they  are  supposed  to  roam 
about  the  jungles,  to  enter  the  tombs,  and  even  to  make  their 
way  into  the  cities,  and  carry  off  their  victims. 

But  the  Rakshas  are  not  alone  like  ogres  in  their  cruelty,  but 
also  in  their  fondness  for  money,  and  for  precious  stones,  which 
they  get  together  in  great  quantities  and  conceal  in  their  palaces; 


250  OGRES  OF   HINDOO   DEMONOLOGY. 

for  some  of  them  are  kings  of  their  species,  and  have  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  inferior  Rakshas  under  their  command.  But 
while  they  are  so  numerous  and  so  powerful,  the  Rakshas,  like 
all  the  ogres  and  giants  in  Fairyland,  are  also  very  stupid,  and 
are  easily  outwitted  by  clever  people.  There  are  many  Hindu 
stories  which  are  told  to  show  this.  I  will  tell  you  one  of 
them. 

Two  little  Princesses  were  badly  treated  at  home,  and  so 
they  ran  away  into  a  great  forest,  where  they  found  a  palace 
belonging  to  a  Rakshas,  who  had  gone  out.  So  they  went  into 
the  house  and  feasted,  and  swept  the  rooms,  and  made  every- 
thing neat  and  tidy.  Just  as  they  had  done  this,  the  Rakshas 
and  his  wife  came  home,  and  the  two  Princesses  ran  up  to  the 
top  of  the  house,  and  hid  themselves  on  the  flat  roof.  When 
the  Rakshas  got  indoors  he  said  to  his  wife :  "  Somebody  has 
been  making  everything  clean  and  tidy.  Wife,  did  you  do 
this?"  "No,"  she  said;  "I  don't  know  who  can  have  done 
it."  "Some  one  has  been  sweeping  the  courtyard,"  said  the 
Rakshas  ;  "  wife,  did  you  sweep  the  courtyard  ?  "  "  No,"  she 
answered ;  "  I  did  not  do  it."  Then  the  Rakshas  walked  round 
and  round  several  times,  with  his  nose  up  in  the  air,  saying : 
"  Some  one  is  here  now ;  I  smell  flesh  and  blood.  Where  can 
they  be  ?  "  "  Stuff  and  nonsense  !  "  cried  the  Rakshas'  wife. 
"  You  smell  flesh  and  blood,  indeed !  Why,  you  have  just  been 
killing  and  eating  a  hundred  thousand  people.  I  should  won- 
der if  you  didn't  still  smell  flesh  and  blood  I  " 

They  went  on  disputing,  till  at  last  the  Rakshas  gave  it  up. 
"  Never  mind,"  he  said ;  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is  —  I  am  very 
thirsty :  let's  come  and  drink  some  water."  So  they  went  to 
the  well,  and  began  letting  down  jars  into  it,  and  drawing  them 
up,  and  drinking  the  water.  Then  the  elder  of  the  two  Prin- 
cesses, who  was  very  bold  and  wise,  said  to  her  sister,  "  I  will 
do  something  that  will  be  very  good  for  us  both."  So  she  ran 
quickly  downstairs,  and  crept  close  behind  the  Rakshas  and 
his  wife,  as  they  stood  on  tiptoe  more  than  half  over  the  side 
of  the  well,  and  catching  hold  of  one  of  the  Rakshas'  heels,  and 
one  of  his  wife's,  she  gave  each  a  little  push,  and  down  they  both 
tumbled  into  the  well,  and  were  drowned — the  Rakshas  and 
the  Rakshas'  wife.  The  Princess  then  went  back  to  her  sister, 
and  said,  "  I  have  killed  the  Rakshas  !  "  "  What,  both?  "  cried 
her  sister.  "  Yes,  both,"  she  said.  "  Won't  they  come  back  ?  " 
said  her  sister.     "  No,  never,"  answered  she. 


OGRES  OF  HINDOO   DEMONOLOGY.  251 

Another  story  will  show  you  how  stupid  a  Rakshas  is,  and 
how  easily  he  can  be  outwitted. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  Blind  Man  and  a  Deaf  Man  made  an 
agreement.  The  Blind  Man  was  to  hear  for  the  Deaf  Man  ; 
and  the  Deaf  Man  was  to  see  for  the  Blind  Man  ;  and  so  they 
were  to  go  about  on  their  travels  together.  One  day  they 
went  to  a  nautch  —  that  is,  a  singing  and  dancing  exhibition. 
The  Deaf  Man  said,  "  The  dancing  is  very  good  ;  but  the  music 
is  not  worth  listening  to."  "I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  the 
Blind  Man  said ;  "  I  think  the  music  is  very  good  ;  but  the 
dancing  is  not  worth  looking  at."  So  they  went  away  for  a 
walk  in  the  jungle.  On  the  way  they  found  a  donkey,  belong- 
ing to  a  dhobee,  or  washerman,  and  a  big  chattee,  or  iron 
pot,  which  the  washerman  used  to  boil  clothes  in.  "■  Brother," 
said  the  Deaf  I\Ian,  "  here  is  a  donkey  and  a  chattee  ;  let  us 
take  them  with  us,  they  may  be  useful."  So  they  took  them, 
and  went  on.  Presently  they  came  to  an  ants'  nest.  "  Here," 
said  the  Deaf  Man,  "  are  a  number  of  very  fine  black  ants  ;  let 
us  take  some  of  them  to  show  our  friends."  "Yes,"  said  the 
Blind  JNIan,  "they  will  do  as  presents  to  our  friends."  So  the 
Deaf  Man  took  out  a  silver  box  from  his  pocket,  and  put  several 
of  the  black  ants  into  it.  After  a  time  a  terrible  storm  came 
on.  "  Oh  dear  !  "  cried  the  Deaf  Man,  "  how  dreadful  this 
lightning  is  I  let  us  get  to  some  place  of  shelter."  "I  don't 
see  that  it's  dreadful  at  all,"  said  the  Blind  Man,  "but  the 
thunder  is  terrible  ;  let  us  get  under  shelter." 

So  they  went  up  to  a  building  that  looked  like  a  temple,  and 
went  in,  and  took  the  donkey  and  the  big  pot  and  the  black 
ants  with  them.  But  it  was  not  a  temple,  it  was  the  house  of 
a  powerful  Rakshas,  and  the  Rakshas  came  home  as  soon  as 
they  had  got  inside  and  had  fastened  the  door.  Finding  that 
he  couldn't  get  in,  he  began  to  make  a  great  noise,  louder  than 
the  thunder,  and  he  beat  upon  the  door  with  his  great  fists. 
Now  the  Deaf  Man  looked  through  a  chink,  and  saw  him,  and 
was  very  frightened,  for  the  Rakshas  was  dreadful  to  look  at. 
But  the  Blind  Man,  as  he  couldn't  see,  was  very  brave  ;  and  he 
went  to  the  door  and  called  out,  "  Who  are  you  ?  and  what  do 
you  mean  by  coming  here  and  battering  at  the  door  in  this  way, 
and  at  this  time  of  night  ?  "  "  I'm  a  Rakshas,"  he  answered,  in 
a  rage  ;  "  and  this  is  my  house,  and  if  you  don't  let  me  in  I 
will  kill  you."  Then  the  Blind  Man  called  out  in  reply  :  "  Oh  ! 
you're   a    Rakshas,  are  you  ?     Well,  if  you're   Rakshas,  I'm 


252  OGRES  OF   HINDOO  DEMONOLOGY. 

Bakshas,  and  Bakshas  is  as  good  as  Rakshas."  "What  non- 
sense is  this  ?  "  cried  the  monster  ;  "  there  is  no  such  creature 
as  a  Bakshas."  "Go  away,"  replied  the  Blind  Man;  "if  you 
make  any  further  disturbance  I'll  punish  you  ;  for  know  that 
I  am  Bakshas,  and  Bakshas  is  Rakshas'  father."  "Heavens 
and  earth  !  "  cried  the  Rakshas,  "  I  never  heard  such  an  ex- 
traordinary thing  in  my  life.  But  if  you  are  my  father,  let  me 
see  your  face,"  —  for  he  began  to  get  puzzled  and  frightened, 
as  the  person  inside  was  so  very  positive. 

Now  the  Blind  Man  and  the  Deaf  Man  didn't  quite  know 
what  to  do  ;  but  at  last  they  opened  the  door  just  a  little, 
and  poked  the  donkey's  nose  out.  "  Bless  me,"  thought  the 
Rakshas,  "  what  a  terribly  ugly  face  my  father  Bakshas  has  got." 
Then  he  called  out  again :  "  Oh  !  father  Bakshas,  you  have  a 
very  big  fierce  face,  but  people  have  sometimes  very  big  heads 
and  very  little  bodies  ;  let  me  see  you,  body  and  head,  before  I 
go  away."  Then  the  Blind  Man  and  the  Deaf  Man  rolled  the 
great  iron  pot  across  the  floor  with  a  thundering  noise  ;  and 
the  Rakshas,  who  watched  the  chink  of  the  door  very  carefully, 
said  to  himself,  "  He  has  got  a  great  body  as  well,  so  I  had 
better  go  away."  But  he  was  still  doubtful  ;  so  he  said,  "  Be- 
fore I  go  away  let  me  hear  you  scream,"  for  all  the  tribe  of 
the  Rakshas  scream  dreadfully.  Then  the  Blind  Man  and  the 
Deaf  Man  took  two  of  the  black  ants  out  of  the  box,  and  put 
one  into  each  of  the  donkey's  ears,  and  the  ants  bit  the  donkey, 
and  the  donkey  began  to  bray  and  to  bellow  as  loud  as  he 
could  ;  and  then  the  Rakshas  ran  away  quite  frightened. 

In  the  morning  the  Blind  Man  and  the  Deaf  Man  found  that 
the  floor  of  the  house  was  covered  with  heaps  of  gold,  and 
silver,  and  precious  stones  ;  and  they  made  four  great  bundles 
of  the  treasure,  and  took  one  each,  and  put  the  other  two  on 
the  donkey,  and  off  they  went.  But  the  Rakshas  was  waiting 
some  distance  off  to  see  what  his  father  Bakshas  was  like  by 
daylight ;  and  he  was  very  angry  when  he  saw  only  a  Deaf 
Man,  and  a  T^lind  Man,  and  a  big  iron  pot,  and  a  donkey,  all 
loaded  with  his  gold  and  silver.  So  he  ran  off  and  fetched  six 
of  his  friends  to  help  him,  and  each  of  the  six  had  hair  a  yard 
long,  and  tusks  like  an  elephant.  When  the  Blind  Man  and 
the  Deaf  Man  saw  them  coming  they  went  and  hid  the  treasure 
in  the  bushes,  and  then  they  got  up  into  a  lofty  betel  palm  and 
waited — the  Deaf  Man,  because  he  could  see,  getting  up  first, 
to  be  furthest  out  of  harm's  way.      Now  the  seven  RaksLts 


OGRES  OF   HINDOO   DEMONOLOGY.  253 

were  not  able  to  reach  them,  and  so  they  said,  "  Let  us  get  on 
each  other's  shoulders  and  pull  them  down."  So  one  Rakshas 
stooped  down,  and  the  second  got  on  his  shoulders,  and  the 
third  on  his,  and  the  fourth  on  his,  and  the  fifth  on  his,  and 
the  sixth  on  his,  and  the  seventh  —  the  one  who  had  invited 
the  others  —  was  just  climbing  up,  when  the  Deaf  Man  got 
frightened  and  caught  hold  of  the  Blind  Man's  arm,  and  as  he 
was  sitting  quite  at  ease,  not  knowing  that  they  were  so  close, 
the  Blind  Man  was  upset,  and  tumbled  down  on  the  neck  of 
the  seventh  Rakshas.  The  Blind  Man  thought  he  had  fallen 
into  the  branches  of  another  tree,  and  stretching  out  his  hands 
for  something  to  take  hold  of,  he  seized  the  Rakshas'  two  great 
ears  and  pinched  them  very  hard.  This  frightened  the  Rak- 
shas, who  lost  his  balance  and  fell  down  to  the  ground,  up- 
setting the  other  six  of  his  friends,  the  Blind  Man  all  the 
while  pinching  harder  than  ever,  and  the  Deaf  Man  crying  out 
from  the  top  of  the  tree  —  "  You're  all  right,  brother,  hold  on 
tight,  I'm  coming  down  to  help  you  "  —  though  he  really  didn't 
mean  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 

Well,  the  noise,  and  the  pinching,  and  all  the  confusion,  so 
frightened  the  six  Rakshas  that  they  thought  they  had  had 
enough  of  helping  their  friend,  and  so  they  ran  away ;  and  the 
seventh  Rakshas,  thinking  that  because  they  ran  there  must  be 
great  danger,  shook  off  the  Blind  Man  and  ran  away  too.  And 
then  the  Deaf  Man  came  down  from  the  tree  and  embraced  the 
Blind  Man,  and  said,  "  I  could  not  have  done  better  myself." 
Tlien  the  Deaf  Man  divided  the  treasure  ;  one  great  heap  for 
himself,  and  one  little  heap  for  the  Blind  Man.  But  the  Blind 
Man  felt  his  heap  and  then  felt  tlie  other,  and  then,  being  angry 
at  the  cheat,  he  gave  the  Deaf  Man  a  box  on  the  ear,  so  tre- 
mendous that  it  made  the  Deaf  Man  hear.  And  the  Deaf  Man, 
also  being  angry,  gave  the  other  such  a  blow  in  the  face  that 
it  made  the  Blind  Man  see.  So  they  became  good  friends 
directly,  and  divided  the  treasure  into  equal  shares,  and  went 
home  laughing  at  the  stupid  Rakshas. 


254  PILPAY'S  FABLES. 


PILPAY'S   FABLES. 

[Pilpat:  The  reputed  author  of  a  widely  circulated  collection  of  fables, 
known  as  the  "Fables  of  Pilpay,"  which  originated  from  an  old  Indian  collec- 
tion in  Sanskrit,  entitled  "  Panchatantra. "  It  was  first  translated  into  Pahlavi 
about  A.D.  550,  and  subsequently  through  the  Arabic  was  transmitted  to  all  the 
peoples  of  Europe.  Versions  are  found  even  in  the  Malay,  Mongol,  and  Afghan 
languages.] 

How  WE  OUGHT   TO  MAKE   CHOICE   OF   FrIENDS,  AND  WHAT 

Advantage  may  be  reaped  from  their  Conversation. 


Fable  I. 
the  raven,  the  rat,  and  the  pigeons. 

Near  adjoining  to  Odorna  there  was  once  a  most  delightful 
place,  which  was  extremely  full  of  wildfowl,  and  was  therefore 
much  frequented  by  the  sportsmen  and  fowlers.  A  Raven  one 
day  accidentally  espied  in  this  place,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  on 
the  top  of  which  she  had  built  her  nest,  a  certain  Fowler  with 
a  net  in  his  hand.  The  poor  Raven  was  afraid  at  first,  imagin- 
ing it  was  herself  that  the  Fowler  aimed  at ;  but  her  fears 
ceased  when  she  observed  the  motions  of  the  person,  who,  after 
he  had  spread  his  net  upon  the  ground,  and  scattered  some 
corn  about  it  to  allure  the  birds,  went  and  hid  himself  behind 
a  hedge,  where  he  was  no  sooner  lain  down,  but  a  flock  of 
Pigeons  threw  themselves  upon  the  corn,  without  hearkening 
to  their  chieftain,  who  would  fain  have  hindered  them,  telling 
them  that  they  were  not  so  rashly  to  abandon  themselves  to 
their  passions.  This  prudent  leader,  who  was  an  old  Pigeon 
called  Montivaga,  perceiving  them  so  obstinate,  had  many  times 
a  desire  to  separate  himself  from  them  ;  but  fate,  that  imperiously 
controls  all  living  creatures,  constrained  him  to  follow  the  for- 
tune of  the  rest,  so  that  he  alighted  upon  the  ground  with  his 
companions.  It  was  not  long  after  this  before  they  all  saw 
themselves  under  the  net,  and  just  ready  to  fall  into  the 
Fowler's  hands. 

"  Well,"  said  Montivaga  on  this,  mournfully  to  them,  "  what 
think  you  now  ;  will  you  believe  me  another  time,  if  it  be  pos- 
sible that  you  may  get  away  from  this  destruction?  I  see," 
continued  he,  perceiving  how  they  fluttered  to  get  loose,  "  that 


PILPAY'S   FABLES.  255 

every  one  of  you  minds  his  own  safety  only,  never  regarding 
what  becomes  of  his  companions ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  that  this 
is  not  only  an  ungrateful  but  a  foolish  way  of  acting ;  we  ought 
to  make  it  our  business  to  help  one  another,  and  it  may  be  so 
charitable  an  action  may  save  us  all  ;  let  us  all  together  strive 
to  break  the  net."  On  this  they  all  obeyed  ]\Iontivaga,  and  so 
well  bestirred  themselves,  that  they  tore  the  net  up  from  the 
ground,  and  carried  it  up  with  them  into  the  air.  The  Fowler, 
on  this,  vexed  to  lose  so  fair  a  prey,  followed  the  Pigeons,  in 
hopes  that  the  weight  of  the  net  would  tire  them. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Raven,  observing  all  this,  said  to  her- 
self, "  This  is  a  very  pleasant  adventure,  I  am  resolved  to  see 
the  issue  of  it  ;  "  and  accordingly  she  took  wing  and  followed 
them.  Montivaga  observing  that  the  Fowler  was  resolved  to 
pursue  them,  "This  man,"  said  he  to  his  companions,  "will 
never  give  over  pursuing  us  till  he  has  lost  sight  of  us ;  there- 
fore, to  prevent  our  destruction,  let  us  bend  our  flight  to  some 
thick  wood  or  some  ruined  castle,  to  the  end  that,  when  we  are 
protected  by  some  forest  or  thick  wall,  despair  may  force  him 
to  retire."  This  expedient  had  the  desired  success;  for,  having 
secured  themselves  among  the  boughs  of  a  thick  forest,  where 
the  Fowler  lost  sight  of  them,  he  returned  home,  full  sorely 
afflicted  for  the  loss  of  his  game  and  his  net  to  boot. 

As  for  the  Raven,  she  followed  them  still,  out  of  curiosity 
to  know  how  they  got  out  of  the  net,  that  she  might  make  use 
of  the  same  secret  upon  the  like  occasion. 

The  Pigeons,  thus  quit  of  the  Fowler,  were  overjoyed  : 
however,  they  were  still  troubled  with  the  entanglements  of 
the  net,  which  they  could  not  get  rid  of  :  but  ^Montivaga,  who 
was  fertile  in  inventions,  soon  found  a  way  for  that. 

"  We  must  address  ourselves,"  said  he,  "  to  some  intimate 
friend,  who,  setting  aside  all  treacherous  and  by-ends,  will  go 
faithfully  to  work  for  our  deliverance.  I  know  a  Rat,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  that  lives  not  far  from  hence,  a  faithful  friend  of 
mine,  whose  name  is  Zirac  ;  he,  I  know,  will  gnaw  the  net, 
and  set  us  at  liberty."  The  Pigeons,  who  desired  nothing 
more,  all  entreated  to  fly  to  this  friend  ;  and  soon  after  they 
arrived  at  the  Rat's  hole,  who  came  forth  upon  the  fluttering 
of  their  wings  ;  and,  astonished  and  surprised  to  see  Montivaga 
so  entangled  in  the  net,  "  O  I  my  dear  friend,"  said  he,  "  how 
came  you  in  this  condition  ?  " 

To  whom  Montivaga  replied,  "  I  desire  you,  my  most  faith* 


256  PILPAY'S  FABLES. 

ful  friend,  first  of  all  to  disengage  my  companions."  But 
Zirac,  more  troubled  to  see  his  friend  bound  than  for  all  the 
rest,  would  needs  pay  his  respects  to  him  first ;  but  Montivaga 
cried  out,  "  I  conjure  you  once  more,  by  our  sacred  friendship, 
to  set  my  companions  at  liberty  before  me  ;  for  that  besides 
being  their  chieftain  I  ought  to  take  care  for  them  in  the  first 
place,  I  am  afraid  the  pains  thou  wilt  take  to  unbind  me  will 
slacken  thy  good  offices  to  the  rest ;  whereas  the  friendship 
thou  hast  for  me  will  excite  thee  to  hasten  their  deliverance, 
that  thou  mayest  be  sooner  in  a  condition  to  give  me  my  free- 
dom." The  Rat,  admiring  the  solidity  of  these  arguments, 
applauded  Montivaga's  generosity,  and  fell  to  unloosening  the 
strangers  ;  which  was  soon  done,  and  then  he  performed  the 
same  kind  office  for  his  friend. 

Montivaga,  thus  at  liberty,  together  with  his  companions, 
took  his  leave  of  Zirac,  returning  him  a  thousand  thanks  for 
his  kindness.  And  when  they  were  gone,  the  Rat  returned  to 
his  hole. 

The  Raven,  having  observed  all  this,  had  a  great  desire  to 
be  acquainted  with  Zirac.  To  which  end  he  went  to  his  hole, 
and  called  him  by  his  name.  Zirac,  frighted  to  hear  a  strange 
voice,  asked  who  he  was.  To  which  the  Raven  answered,  "  It 
is  a  Raven  who  has  some  business  of  importance  to  impart  to 
thee." 

"  What  business,"  replied  the  Rat,  "  can  you  and  I  have 
together  ?  We  are  enemies."  Then  the  Raven  told  him,  he 
desired  to  list  himself  in  the  number  of  a  Rat's  acquaintance 
whom  he  knew  to  be  so  sincere  a  friend. 

•'I  beseech  you,"  answered  Zirac,  "find  out  some  other 
creature,  whose  friendship  agrees  better  with  your  disposition. 
You  lose  your  time  in  endeavoring  to  persuade  me  to  such  an 
incompatible  reconciliation." 

"  Never  stand  upon  incompatibilities,"  said  the  Raven,  "  but 
do  a  generous  action,  by  affording  an  innocent  person  your 
friendship  and  acquaintance,  when  he  desires  it  at  your 
hands." 

"  You  may  talk  to  me  of  generosity  till  your  lungs  ache," 
replied  Zirac,  "  I  know  your  tricks  too  well :  in  a  word,  we  are 
creatures  of  so  different  species  that  we  can  never  be  either 
friends  or  acquaintance.  The  example  which  I  remember  of 
the  Partridge,  that  overhastily  granted  her  friendship  to  a 
Falcon,  is  a  sufficient  warning  to  make  me  wiser." 


PILPAY'S  FABLES.  267 

Fable  II. 

THE  PARTRIDGE  AND  THE  FALCON. 

"  A  Partridge,"  said  Zirac,  keeping  close  in  his  hole,  but 
very  obligingly  pursuing  his  discourse,  "  was  promenading  at 
the  foot  of  a  hill,  and  tuning  her  throat,  in  her  coarse  way,  so 
delightfully,  that  a  Falcon  flying  that  way,  and  hearing  her 
voice,  came  towards  her,  and  very  civilly  was  going  to  ask  her 
acquaintance.  '  Nobody,'  said  he  to  himself,  '  can  live  without 
a  friend ;  and  it  is  the  saying  of  the  wise  that  they  who  want 
friends  labor  under  perpetual  sickness.'  With  these  thoughts 
he  would  fain  have  accosted  the  Partridge  ;  but  she,  perceiving 
him,  escaped  into  a  hole,  all  over  in  a  cold  sweat  for  fear. 

"  The  Falcon  followed  her,  and  presenting  himself  at  the 
entrance  of  the  hole,  '  My  dear  Partridge,'  said  he,  '  I  own  that 
I  never  had  hitherto  any  great  kindness  for  you,  because  I  did 
not  know  your  merit ;  but  since  my  good  fortune  now  has 
made  me  acquainted  with  your  merry  note,  be  pleased  to  give 
me  leave  to  speak  with  you,  that  I  may  offer  you  my  friend- 
ship, and  that  I  may  beg  of  you  to  grant  me  yours.' 

"  '  Tyrant,'  answered  the  Partridge,  '  let  me  alone,  and  labor 
not  in  vain  to  reconcile  fire  and  water.' 

"  '  Most  amiable  Partridge,'  replied  the  Falcon, '  banish  these 
idle  fears,  and  be  convinced  that  I  love  you,  and  desire  that  we 
may  enter  into  a  familiarity  together  :  had  I  any  other  design, 
I  would  not  trouble  myself  to  court  you  with  such  soft  language 
out  of  your  hole.  Believe  me,  I  have  such  good  pounces,  that 
I  would  have  seized  a  dozen  other  Partridges  in  the  time  that  I 
have  been  courting  your  affection.  I  am  sure  you  will  have 
reasons  enough  to  be  glad  of  my  friendship  ;  first,  because  no 
other  Falcon  shall  do  you  any  harm  while  you  are  under  my 
protection ;  secondly,  because  that  being  in  my  nest,  you  will 
be  honored  by  the  world  ;  and,  lastly,  I  will  procure  you  a  male 
to  keep  you  company,  and  give  you  all  the  delights  of  love  and 
a  young  progeny.' 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  think  that  you  can  have  so  much 
kindness  for  me,'  replied  the  Partridge  :  '  but,  indeed,  should 
this  be  true,  I  ought  not  to  accept  your  proposal  ;  for  you  being 
the  prince  of  birds,  and  of  the  greatest  strength,  and  I  a  poor 
weak  Partridge,  whenever  I  shall  do  anything  that  displeases 
you,  you  will  not  fail  to  tear  me  to  pieces,' 


258  PILPAY'S  FABLES. 

"  '  No,  no,'  said  the  Falcon,  '  set  your  heart  at  rest  for  that ; 
the  faults  that  friends  commit  are  easily  pardoned.'  Much 
other  discourse  of  this  kind  passed  between  them,  and  many 
doubts  were  started  and  answered  satisfactorily,  so  that  at 
length  the  Falcon  testified  such  an  extraordinary  friendship 
for  the  Partridge,  that  she  could  no  longer  refuse  to  come  out 
of  her  hole.  And  no  sooner  was  she  come  forth,  than  the  Fal- 
con tenderly  embraced  her,  and  carried  her  to  his  nest,  where 
for  two  or  three  days  he  made  it  his  whole  business  to  divert 
her.  The  Partridge,  overjoyed  to  see  herself  so  caressed,  gave 
her  tongue  more  liberty  than  she  had  done  before,  and  talked 
much  of  the  cruelty  and  savage  temper  of  the  birds  of  prey. 
This  began  to  offend  the  Falcon  ;  though  for  the  present  he 
dissembled  it.  One  day,  however,  he  unfortunately  fell  ill, 
which  hindered  him  from  going  abroad  in  search  of  prey,  so 
that  he  grew  hungry  ;  and  wanting  victuals,  he  soon  became 
melancholy,  morose,  and  churlish.  His  being  out  of  humor 
quickly  alarmed  the  Partridge,  who  kept  herself,  very  prudently, 
close  in  a  corner,  with  a  very  modest  countenance.  But  the 
Falcon,  soon  after,  no  longer  able  to  endure  the  importunities 
of  his  stomach,  resolved  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  poor  Par- 
tridge. To  which  purpose,  '  It  is  not  proper,'  said  he,  '  that 
you  should  lie  lurking  there  in  the  shade,  while  all  the  world 
is  exposed  to  the  heat  of  the  sun.' 

"  The  Partridge,  trembling  every  joint  of  her,  replied,  '  King 
of  birds,  it  is  now  night,  and  all  the  world  is  in  the  shade  as 
well  as  I,  nor  do  I  know  what  sun  you  mean.'  '  Insolent  bag- 
gage,' replied  the  Falcon,  '  then  you  will  make  me  either  a  liar 
or  mad : '  and  so  saying,  he  fell  upon  her,  and  tore  her  to  pieces. 

"  Do  not  believe,"  pursued  the  Rat,  "  that  upon  the  faith  of 
your  promises,  I  will  lay  myself  at  your  mercy." 

"  Recollect  yourself,"  answered  the  Raven,  "  and  consider 
that  it  is  not  worth  my  while  to  fool  my  stomach  with  such  a 
diminutive  body  as  thine ;  it  is  therefore  with  no  such  intent 
I  am  talking  with  thee,  but  I  know  thy  friendship  may  be  bene- 
ficial to  me  ;  scruple  not,  therefore,  to  grant  me  this  favor." 

"  The  sages  of  old,"  replied  the  Rat,  "  admonish  us  to  take 
care  of  being  deluded  by  the  fair  words  of  our  enemies,  as  was 
a  certain  unfortunate  Man,  whose  story,  if  you  please,  I  will 
..elate  to  you." 


PILPAY'S   FABLES.  259 

Fable  III. 

THE  MAN   AND   THE   ADDER. 

A  Man  mounted  upon  a  Camel  once  rode  into  a  thicket,  and 
went  to  rest  himself  in  that  part  of  it  from  whence  a  caravan 
was  just  departed,  and  where  the  people  having  left  a  fire,  some 
sparks  of  it,  being  driven  by  the  wind,  had  set  a  bush,  wherein 
lay  an  Adder,  all  in  a  flame.  The  fire  environed  the  Adder  in 
such  a  manner  that  he  knew  not  how  to  escape,  and  was  just 
giving  himself  over  to  destruction,  when  he  perceived  the  Man 
already  mentioned,  and  with  a  thousand  mournful  conjurations 
begged  of  him  to  save  his  life.  The  Man,  on  this,  being  natu- 
rally compassionate,  said  to  himself, "  It  is  true  these  creatures 
are  enemies  to  mankind  ;  however,  good  actions  are  of  great 
value,  even  of  the  very  greatest  when  done  to  our  enemies ;  and 
whoever  sows  the  seed  of  good  works,  shall  reap  the  fruit  of 
blessings."  After  he  had  made  this  reflection,  he  took  a  sack, 
and  tying  it  to  the  end  of  his  lance,  reached  it  over  the  flame 
to  the  Adder,  who  flung  himself  into  it ;  and  when  he  was  safe 
in,  the  traveler  pulled  back  the  bag,  and  gave  the  Adder  leave 
to  come  forth,  telling  him  he  might  go  about  his  business  ;  but 
hoped  he  would  have  the  gratitude  to  make  him  a  promise, 
never  to  do  any  more  harm  to  men,  since  a  man  had  done  him 
so  great  a  piece  of  service. 

To  this  the  ungrateful  creature  answered,  "  You  much  mis- 
take both  yourself  and  me  :  think  not  that  I  intend  to  be  gone 
so  calmly  ;  no,  my  design  is  first  to  leave  thee  a  parting  bless- 
ing, and  throw  my  venom  upon  thee  and  thy  Camel." 

"  Monster  of  ingratitude  !  "  replied  the  Traveler,  "  desist  a 
moment  at  least,  and  tell  me  whether  it  be  lawful  to  recompense 
good  with  evil." 

"  No,"  replied  the  Adder,  "  it  certainly  is  not ;  but  in  acting 
in  that  manner  I  shall  do  no  more  than  what  yourselves  do 
every  day  ;  that  is  to  say,  retaliate  good  deeds  ^vith  wicked 
actions,  and  requite  benefits  with  ingratitude." 

"  You  cannot  prove  this  slanderous  and  wicked  aspersion," 
replied  the  Traveler  :  "  nay,  I  will  venture  to  say  that  if  you 
can  show  me  any  one  other  creature  in  the  world  that  is  of 
your  opinion,  I  will  consent  to  whatever  punishment  you  think 
fit  to  inflict  on  me  for  the  faults  of  my  fellow-creatures." 

"I  agree  to  this  willingly,"  answered  the  Adder;  and  at 


260  PILPAY'S  FABLES. 

the  same  time  spying  a  Cow,  "  Let  us  propound  our  question," 
said  he,  "to  this  creature  before  us,  and  we  shall  see  what 
answer  she  will  make."  The  Man  consented  ;  and  so  both  of 
them  accosting  the  Cow,  the  Adder  put  the  question  to  her, 
how  a  good  turn  was  to  be  requited.  "By  its  contrary," 
replied  the  Cow,  "  if  you  mean  according  to  the  custom  of 
men ;  and  this  I  know  by  sad  experience.  I  belong,"  said 
she,  "to  a  man,  to  whom  I  have  long  been  several  ways  ex- 
tremely beneficial :  I  have  been  used  to  bring  him  a  calf  every 
year,  and  to  supply  his  house  with  milk,  butter,  and  cheese ; 
but  now  I  am  grown  old,  and  no  longer  in  a  condition  to 
serve  him  as  formerly  I  did,  he  has  put  me  in  this  pasture 
to  fat  me,  with  a  design  to  sell  me  to  a  butcher,  who  is  to 
cut  my  throat,  and  he  and  his  friends  are  to  eat  my  flesh  : 
and  is  not  this  requiting  good  with  evil?" 

On  this,  the  Adder,  taking  upon  him  to  speak,  said  to  the 
Man,  "  What  say  you  now  ?  are  not  your  own  customs  a  suffi- 
cient warrant  for  me  to  treat  you  as  I  intend  to  do  ?  " 

The  Traveler,  not  a  little  confounded  at  this  ill-timed  story, 
was  cunning  enough,  however,  to  answer,  "  This  is  a  particular 
case  only,  and  give  me  leave  to  say,  one  witness  is  not  sufficient 
to  convict  me  ;  therefore  pray  let  me  have  another." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  Adder;  "let  us  address 
ourselves  to  this  Tree  that  stands  here  before  us."  The  Tree, 
having  heard  the  subject  of  their  dispute,  gave  his  opinion  in 
the  following  words  :  "  Among  men,  benefits  are  never  requited 
but  with  ungrateful  actions.  I  protect  travelers  from  the  heat 
of  the  sun,  and  yield  them  fruit  to  eat,  and  a  delightful  liquor 
to  drink  ;  nevertheless,  forgetting  the  delight  and  benefit  of  my 
shade,  they  barbarously  cut  down  my  branches  to  make  sticks, 
and  handles  for  hatchets,  and  saw  my  body  to  make  planks  and 
rafters.     Is  not  this  requiting  good  with  evil  ?  " 

The  Adder,  on  this,  looking  upon  the  Traveler,  asked  if  he 
was  satisfied.  But  he  was  in  such  a  confusion  that  he  knew 
not  what  to  answer.  However,  in  hopes  to  free  himself  from 
the  danger  that  threatened  him,  he  said  to  the  Adder,  "  I  desire 
only  one  favor  more  ;  let  us  be  judged  by  the  next  beast  we 
meet ;  give  me  but  that  satisfaction,  it  is  all  I  crave :  you 
know  life  is  sweet ;  suffer  me  therefore  to  beg  for  the  means  of 
continuing  it."  While  they  were  thus  parleying  together,  a 
Fox  passing  by  was  stopped  by  the  Adder,  who  conjured  him  to 
put  an  end  to  their  controversy. 


PILPAY'S  FABLES.  261 

The  Fox,  upon  this,  desiring  to  know  the  subject  of  their 
dispute,  said  the  Traveler,  "  T  have  done  tliis  Adder  a  signal 
piece  of  service,  and  he  would  fain  persuade  me  that,  for  my 
reward,  he  ought  to  do  me  a  mischief."  "If  he  means  to  act 
by  you  as  you  men  do  by  others,  he  speaks  nothing  but  what 
is  true,"  replied  the  Fox ;  "  but,  that  I  may  be  better  able  to 
judge  between  you,  let  me  understand  what  service  it  is  that 
you  have  done  him." 

The  Traveler  was  very  glad  of  this  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing for  himself,  and  recounted  the  whole  affair  to  him  :  he  told 
him  after  what  manner  he  had  rescued  him  out  of  the  flames 
with  that  little  sack,  which  he  showed  him. 

"  How  !  "  said  the  Fox,  laughing  outright,  "  would  you  pre- 
tend to  make  me  believe  that  so  large  an  Adder  as  this  could 
get  into  such  a  little  sack?  It  is  impossible  !  "  Both  the  Man 
and  the  Adder,  on  this,  assured  him  of  the  truth  of  that  part 
of  the  story  ;  but  the  Fox  positively  refused  to  believe  it.  At 
length  said  he,  "Words  will  never  convince  me  of  this  monstrous 
improbability  ;  but  if  the  Adder  will  go  into  it  again,  to  con- 
vince me  of  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  I  shall  then  be  able  to 
judge  of  the  rest  of  this  affair." 

"  That  I  will  do  most  willingly,"  replied  the  Adder  ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  put  himself  into  the  sack. 

Then  said  the  Fox  to  the  Traveler,  "Now  you  are  the  mas- 
ter of  your  enemy's  life :  and,  I  believe,  you  need  not  be  long 
in  resolving  what  treatment  such  a  monster  of  ingratitude 
deserves  of  you."  With  that  the  Traveler  tied  up  the  mouth 
of  the  sack,  and,  with  a  great  stone,  never  left  off  beating  it  till 
he  had  pounded  the  Adder  to  death ;  and,  by  that  means,  put 
an  end  to  his  fears  and  the  dispute  at  once. 

"  This  Fable,"  pursued  the  Rat,  "  informs  us  that  there  is 
no  trusting  to  the  fair  words  of  an  enemy,  for  fear  of  falling 
into  the  like  misfortunes." 

"You  say  very  true,"  replied  the  Raven,  "in  all  this;  but 
what  I  have  to  answer  to  it  is  that  we  ought  to  understand 
how  to  distinguish  friends  from  enemies :  and,  wlien  you  have 
learned  that  art,  you  will  know  I  am  no  terrible  or  treacherous 
foe,  but  a  sincere  and  hearty  friend  :  for  I  protest  to  thee,  in 
the  most  solemn  manner,  that  what  I  have  seen  thee  do  for 
thy  friend  the  Pigeon  and  his  companions  lias  taken  such  root 
in  me  that  I  cannot  live  without  an  acquaintance  with  thee;  ^ 


262  PILPAY'S   FABLES. 

and  I  swear  I  will  not  depart  from  hence  till  thou  hast  granted 
me  thy  friendship.*' 

Zirac  perceiving,  at  length,  that  the  Raven  really  dealt 
frankly  and  cordially  with  him,  replied,  "  I  am  happy  to  find 
that  you  are  sincere  in  all  this ;  pardon  my  fears,  and  now  hear 
me  acknowledge  that  I  think  it  is  an  honor  for  me  to  wear  the 
title  of  thy  friend ;  and,  if  I  have  so  long  withstood  thy  im- 
portunities, it  was  only  to  try  thee,  and  to  show  thee  that  I 
want  neither  wit  nor  policy,  that  thou  mayst  know  hereafter 
how  far  I  may  be  able  to  serve  thee."  And  so  saying,  he 
came  forward ;  but  even  now  he  did  not  venture  fairly  out,  but 
stopped  at  the  entrance  of  his  hole. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  come  boldly  forth  ?  "  demanded  the 
Raven.  "  Is  it  because  thou  art  not  yet  assured  of  my  affec- 
tion?" 

"  That  is  not  the  reason,"  answered  the  Rat ;  "  but  I  am 
afraid  of  thy  companions  upon  the  trees." 

"  Set  thy  heart  at  rest  for  that,"  replied  the  Raven ;  "  they 
shall  respect  thee  as  their  friend :  for  it  is  a  custom  among  us 
that,  when  one  of  us  enters  into  a  league  of  friendship  with 
a  creature  of  another  species,  we  all  esteem  and  love  that 
creature."  The  Rat,  upon  the  faith  of  these  words,  came  out 
to  the  Raven,  who  caressed  him  with  extraordinary  demonstra- 
tions of  friendship,  swearing  to  him  an  inviolable  amity,  and 
requesting  him  to  go  and  live  with  him  near  the  habitation  of 
a  certain  neighboring  Tortoise,  of  whom  he  gave  a  very  noble 
character. 

"  Command  me  henceforward  in  all  things,"  replied  Zirac, 
"  for  I  have  so  great  an  inclination  for  you,  that  from  hence- 
forward I  will  forever  follow  you  as  your  shadow :  and,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  this  is  not  the  proper  place  of  my  residence  ;  I 
was  only  compelled  some  time  since  to  take  sanctuary  in  this 
hole,  by  reason  of  an  accident,  of  which  I  would  give  you  the 
relation,  if  I  thought  it  might  not  be  offensive  to  you." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  replied  the  Raven,  "  can  you  have  any 
such  fears  ?  or  rather  are  you  not  convinced  that  I  share  in  all 
your  concerns?  But  the  Tortoise,"  added  he,  "whose  friend- 
ship is  a  very  considerable  acquisition,  which  you  cannot  fail 
of,  will  be  no  less  glad  to  hear  the  recital  of  your  adventures : 
come,  therefore,  away  with  me  to  her,"  continued  he  ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  he  took  the  rat  in  his  bill,  and  carried  him  to 
the  Tortoise's  dwelling,  to  whom  he  related  what  he  had  seen 


PILPAY'S   FABLES.  263 

Zirac  do.  She  congratulated  the  Raven  for  having  acquired  so 
perfect  a  friend,  and  caressed  the  Rat  at  a  very  high  rate  ; 
who,  for  his  part,  was  too  much  a  courtier  not  to  testify  how 
sensible  he  was  of  all  her  civilities.  After  many  compliments 
on  all  sides,  they  went  all  three  to  walk  by  the  banks  of  a  purl- 
ing rivulet ;  and,  having  made  choice  of  a  place  somewhat  dis- 
tant from  the  highway,  the  Raven  desired  Zirac  there  to  relate 
his  adventures,  which  he  did  in  the  following  manner. 

Fable  IV. 

THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ZIRAC. 

"  I  was  born,"  said  Zirac,  "  and  lived  many  years  in  the 
city  of  India  called  Marout,  where  I  made  choice  of  a  place  to 
reside  in  that  seemed  to  be  the  habitation  of  silence  itself,  that 
I  might  live  without  disturbance.  Here  I  enjoyed  long  the 
greatest  earthly  felicity,  and  tasted  the  sweets  of  a  quiet  life, 
in  company  of  some  other  Rats,  honest  creatures,  of  my  own 
humor.  There  was  also  in  our  neighborhood,  I  must  inform 
you,  a  certain  Dervise,  who  every  day  remained  idly  in  his 
habitation  while  his  companion  went  a  begging.  He  con- 
stantly, however,  ate  a  part  of  what  the  other  brought  home, 
and  kept  the  remainder  for  his  supper.  But,  when  he  sat 
down  to  his  second  meal,  he  never  found  his  dish  in  the  same 
condition  that  he  left  it :  for  while  he  was  in  his  garden  I 
always  filled  my  belly,  and  constantly  called  my  companions 
to  partake  with  me,  who  were  no  less  mindful  of  their  duty  to 
nature  than  myself.  The  Dervise,  on  this,  constantly  finding 
his  pittance  diminished,  flew  out  at  length  into  a  great  rage, 
and  looked  into  his  books  for  some  receipt  or  some  engine  to 
apprehend  us  :  but  all  that  availed  him  nothing,  I  was  still 
more  cunning  than  he.  One  unfortunate  day,  however,  one  of 
his  friends,  who  had  been  a  long  journey,  entered  into  his  cell 
to  visit  him  ;  and,  after  they  had  dined,  they  fell  into  a  dis- 
course concerning  travel.  This  Dervise,  our  good  purveyor, 
among  other  things  asked  his  friend  what  he  had  seen  that 
was  most  rare  and  curious  in  his  travels.  To  whom  the 
Traveler  began  to  recount  what  he  had  observed  most  worthy 
remark  ;  but,  as  he  was  studying  to  give  him  a  description  of 
tlie  most  delightful  places  through  which  he  had  passed,  the 
Dervise  still  interrupted  him  from  time  to  time,  with  the  noise 


264  PILPAYS   FABLES. 

which  he  made,  by  clapping  his  hands  one  against  the  other, 
and  stamping  with  his  foot  against  the  ground,  to  fright  us 
away  :  for,  indeed,  we  made  frequent  sallies  upon  his  provision, 
never  regarding  his  presence  nor  his  company.  At  length  the 
Traveler,  taking  it  in  dudgeon  that  the  Dervise  gave  so  little 
ear  to  him,  told  him,  in  downright  terms,  that  he  did  ill  to 
detain  him  there,  to  trouble  him  with  telling  stories  he  did  not 
attend  to,  and  make  a  fool  of  him. 

" '  Heaven  forbid  ! '  replied  the  Dervise,  altogether  sur- 
prised, '  that  I  should  make  a  fool  of  a  person  of  your  merit : 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting  you,  but  there  is  in  this 
place  a  nest  of  rats  that  will  eat  me  up  to  the  very  ears  before 
they  have  done ;  and  there  is  one  above  the  rest  so  bold,  that 
he  even  has  the  impudence  to  come  and  bite  me  by  the  toes  as 
I  lie  asleep,  and  I  know  not  how  to  catch  the  felonious  devil.' 
The  Traveler,  on  this,  was  satisfied  with  the  Dervise's  excuses ; 
and  replied,  '  Certainly  there  is  some  mystery  in  this  :  this 
accident  brings  to  my  mind  a  remarkable  story,  which  I  will 
relate  to  you,  provided  you  will  hearken  to  me  with  a  little 
better  attention.' " 

Fable  V. 

A   HUSBAND   AND   HIS   WIFE. 

"  One  day,"  continued  the  Traveler,  "  as  I  was  on  my  jour- 
ney, the  bad  weather  constrained  me  to  stop  at  a  town  where  I 
had  several  acquaintances  of  different  ranks  ;  and,  being  unable 
to  proceed  on  my  journey  for  the  continuance  of  the  rain,  I 
went  to  lodge  with  one  of  my  friends,  who  received  me  very 
civilly.  After  supper  he  put  me  to  bed  in  a  chamber  that  was 
parted  from  his  own  by  a  very  thin  wainscot  only  ;  so  that,  in 
despite  of  my  ears,  I  heard  all  his  private  conversation  with 
his  Wife. 

"  *  To-morrow,'  said  he,  '  I  intend  to  invite  the  principal 
burghers  of  the  town  to  divert  my  friend  who  has  done  me  the 
honor  to  come  and  see  me.' 

"  '  You  have  not  sufficient  wherewithal  to  support  your  fam- 
ily,' answered  his  Wife,  '  and  yet  you  talk  of  being  at  great 
expenses  :  rather  think  of  sparing  that  little  you  have  for  the 
good  of  your  children,  and  let  feasting  alone.' 

" '  This  is  a  man  of  great  religion  and  piety,'  replied  the 
Husband  ;  '  and  I  ought  to  testify  my  joy  on  seeing  him,  and 


PILPAY'S  FABLES.  265 

to  give  my  other  friends  an  opportunity  of  hearing  his  pious 
conversation  ;  nor  be  you  in  care  for  the  small  expense  that  will 
attend  this.  The  providence  of  God  is  very  great ;  and  we 
ought  not  to  take  too  much  care  for  to-morrow,  lest  what  befell 
the  Wolf  befall  us.'" 

Fable  VI. 

THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  WOLF. 

"  One  day,"  continued  the  Husband,  "  a  great  Hunter,  re- 
turning from  the  chase  of  a  deer,  which  he  had  killed,  unex- 
pectedly espied  a  wild  boar  coming  out  of  a  wood,  and  making 
directly  towards  him.  '  Very  good,'  cried  the  Hunter,  '  this 
beast  comes  very  opportunely  ;  he  will  not  a  little  augment 
my  provision.'  With  that  he  bent  his  bow,  and  let  fly  his 
arrow  with  so  good  an  aim  that  he  wounded  the  boar  to  death. 
Such,  however,  are  the  unforeseen  events  that  attend  too  covet- 
ous a  care  for  the  necessaries  of  life,  that  this  fair  beginning 
was  but  a  prelude  to  a  very  fatal  catastrophe.  For  the  beast, 
feeling  himself  wounded,  ran  with  so  much  fury  at  the  Hunter, 
that  he  ripped  up  his  belly  with  his  tusks  in  such  a  manner  that 
they  both  fell  dead  upon  the  place. 

"  At  the  very  moment  when  this  happened,  there  passed  by 
a  Wolf,  half-famished,  who,  seeing  so  much  victuals  lying  upon 
the  ground,  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy.  '  However,'  said  he  to 
himself,  '  I  must  not  be  prodigal  of  all  this  good  food  ;  but  it 
behooves  me  to  husband  my  good  fortune,  to  make  my  provision 
hold  out  the  longer.'  Being  very  hungry,  however,  he  very 
prudently  resolved  to  fill  his  belly  first,  and  make  his  store  for 
the  future  afterwards.  Not  willing,  however,  to  waste  any  part 
of  his  treasure,  he  was  for  eating  his  meat,  and,  if  possible, 
having  it  too  ;  he  therefore  resolved  to  fill  his  belly  with  what 
was  least  delicate,  and  accordingly  began  with  the  string  of  the 
bow,  which  was  made  of  gut ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  snapped 
the  string,  but  the  bow,  which  was  highly  bent,  gave  him  such 
a  terrible  thump  upon  the  breast  that  he  fell  stone-dead  upon 
the  other  bodies. 

" '  This  Fable,'  said  the  Husband,  pursuing  his  discourse 
'instructs  us  that  we  ought  not  to  be  too  greedily  covetous.' 

"'Nay,'  said  the  Wife,  'if  this  be  the  effect  of  saving,  even 
invite  whom  you  please  to-morrow.' 


266  PILPAY'S  FABLES. 

"  The  company  was  accordingly  invited  ;  but  the  next  day, 
as  the  Wife  was  getting  the  dinner  ready,  and  making  a  sort  of 
sauce  with  honey,  she  saw  a  rat  fall  into  the  honey  pot,  which 
turned  her  stomach,  and  stopped  the  making  of  that  part  of  the 
entertainment.  Unwilling,  therefore,  to  make  use  of  the  honey, 
she  carried  it  to  the  market,  and  when  she  parted  with  it,  took 
pitch  in  exchange.  I  was  then,  by  accident,  by  her,  and  asked 
her  why  she  made  such  a  disadvantageous  exchange  for  her 
honey. 

" '  Because,'  said  she,  in  my  ear,  '  it  is  not  worth  so  much  to 
me  as  the  pitch.'  Then  I  presently  perceived  there  was  some 
mystery  in  the  affair,  which  was  beyond  ray  comprehension.  It 
is  the  same  with  this  rat :  he  would  never  be  so  bold,  had  he 
not  some  reason  for  it  which  we  are  ignorant  of.  The  rats," 
continued  he,  "  in  this  part  of  the  world,  are  a  cunning,  covet- 
ous, and  proud  generation  ;  they  heap  money  as  much  as  the 
raisers  of  our  own  species  ;  and  when  one  of  them  is  possessed 
of  a  considerable  sum,  he  becomes  a  prince  among  them,  and 
has  his  set  of  comrades,  who  would  die  to  serve  him,  as  they 
live  by  him  ;  for  he  disburses  money  for  their  purchases  of 
food,  etc.,  of  one  another,  and  they  live  his  slaves  in  perfect 
idleness.  And  for  my  part,  I  am  apt  to  believe  that  this  is  the 
case  with  this  impudent  rat ;  that  h^  has  a  number  of  slaves 
of  his  own  species  at  command,  to  defend  and  uphold  him  in 
his  audacious  tricks,  and  that  there  is  money  hidden  in  his 
hole." 

The  Dervise  no  sooner  heard  the  Traveler  talk  of  money, 
than  he  took  a  hatchet,  and  so  bestirred  himself,  that  having 
cleft  the  wall,  he  soon  discovered  my  treasure,  to  the  value  of 
a  thousand  deniers  in  gold,  which  I  had  heaped  together  with 
great  labor  and  toil.  These  had  long  been  my  whole  pleasure  ; 
I  told  them  every  day  ;  I  took  delight  to  handle  them,  and 
tumble  upon  them,  placing  all  my  happiness  in  that  exercise. 
But  to  return  to  the  story.  When  the  gold  tumbled  out, 
'  Very  good,'  said  the  Traveler  ;  '  had  I  not  reason  to  attrib- 
ute the  insolence  of  these  rats  to  some  unknown  cause  ? ' 

"  I  leave  you  to  judge  in  what  a  desperate  condition  I  was, 
when  I  saw  my  habitation  ransacked  after  this  manner.  I  re- 
solved on  this  to  change  my  lodging  ;  but  all  my  companions 
left  me ;  so  that  I  had  a  thorough  experience  of  the  truth  of 
the  proverb,  'No  money,  no  friend.'  Friends,  nowadays,  love 
us  no  longer  than  our  friendship  turns  to  their  advantage.     I 


PILPAY'S   FABLES.  267 

have  heard  among  men,  that  one  day  a  wealthy  and  a  witty 
man  was  asked  how  many  friends  he  had.  'As  for  friends 
alamode,'  said  he,  '  I  have  as  many  as  I  have  crowns  ;  but  as 
for  real  friends,  I  must  stay  till  I  come  to  be  in  want,  and  then 
I  shall  know.' 

"  While  I  was  pondering,  however,  upon  the  accident  that 
had  befallen  me,  I  saw  a  rat  pass  along,  who  had  been  hereto- 
fore used  to  profess  himself  so  much  devoted  to  my  service,  that 
you  would  have  thought  he  could  not  have  lived  a  moment  out 
of  my  company.  I  called  to  him,  and  asked  him  why  he 
shunned  me  like  the  rest. 

"  '  Thinkest  thou,'  said  the  ungrateful  and  impudent  villain, 
*that  we  are  such  fools  as  to  serve  thee  for  nothing?  When 
thou  wast  rich,  we  were  thy  servants  ;  but  now  thou  art  poor, 
believe  me,  we  will  not  be  the  companions  of  thy  poverty.' 

"'Alas!  thou  oughtest  not  to  despise  the  poor,'  said  I, 
*  because  they  are  the  beloved  of  Providence.' 

"  '  It  is  very  true,'  answered  he  ;  '  but  not  such  poor  as  thou 
art.     For  Providence  takes  care  of  those  among  men  who  have, 
for  the  sake  of  religion,  forsaken  the  world  ;  not  those  whom 
the  world  has  forsaken.'     Miserably  angry  was  I  vidth  myself 
for  my  former  generosities  to  such  a  wretch  ;  but  I  could  not 
tell  what  to  answer  to  such  a  cutting  expression.     I  stayed, 
however,  notwithstanding  my  misfortunes,  with  the  Dervise,  to 
see  how  he  would  dispose  of  the  money  he  had  taken  from  me  ; 
and  I  observed  that  he  gave  one  half  to  his  friend,  and  that  each 
of  them  laid  their  shares  under  their  pillows.     On  seeing  this, 
an  immediate  thought  came  into  my  mind  to  go  and  regain  this 
money.     To  this  purpose  I  stole  softly  to  the  Dervise's  bedside, 
and  was  just  going  to  carry  back  my  treasure  ;  but  unfortu- 
nately his  friend,  who,  unperceived  by   me,  observed   all  my 
actions,  threw  his  bed  staff  at  me  with  so  good  a  will  that  he 
had  almost  broke  my  foot,  which  obliged  me  to  recover  my  hole 
with  all  the  speed  I  could,  though  not  without  some  difficulty. 
About  an  hour  after,  I  crept  out  again,  believing  by  this  time 
the  Traveler  might  be  asleep  also.     But  he  was  too  diligent  a 
sentinel,  and  too  much  afraid  of  losing  his  good  fortune.     How- 
ever, I  plucked  up  a  good  heart,  went  forward,  and  was  already 
got  to  the  Dervise's  bed's  head,  when  my  rashness  had  like  to 
have  cost  me  my  life.     For  the  Traveler  gave  me  a  second  blow 
upon  the  head,  that  stunned  me  in  such  a  manner  that  I  could 
hardly  find  my  hole  again.     At  the  same  instant  he  also  threw 


268  PILPAY'S   FABLES. 

his  bed  staff  at  me  a  third  time  ;  but  missing  me,  I  recovered 
my  sanctuary  ;  where  I  was  no  sooner  set  down  in  safety,  than 
I  protested  that  I  would  never  more  pursue  the  recovery  of  a 
thing  which  had  cost  me  so  much  pains  and  jeopardy.  In  pur- 
suance of  this  resolution,  I  left  the  Dervise's  habitation,  and 
retired  to  that  place  where  you  saw  me  with  the  Pigeon." 

The  Tortoise  was  extremely  well  pleased  with  the  recital  of 
the  Rat's  adventures  ;  and  at  the  same  time  embracing  him, 
"  You  have  done  well,"  said  she,  "  to  quit  the  world,  and  the 
intrigues  of  it,  since  they  afford  us  no  perfect  satisfaction.  All 
those  who  are  turmoiled  with  avarice  and  ambition  do  but  labor 
for  their  own  ruin,  like  a  certain  Cat  which  I  once  knew,  whose 
adventures  you  will  not  be  displeased  to  hear." 

Fable  VII. 

THE  RAVENOUS   CAT. 

"  A  certain  Person  whom  I  have  often  seen,"  continued  the 
Tortoise,  "  bred  up  a  Cat  very  frugally  in  his  own  house.  He 
gave  her  enough  to  suffice  nature,  though  nothing  superfluous  : 
and  she  might,  if  she  pleased,  have  lived  very  happily  with 
him ;  but  she  was  very  ravenous,  and,  not  content  with  her 
ordinary  food,  hunted  about  in  every  corner  for  more.  One 
day,  passing  by  a  dove  house,  she  saw  some  young  pigeons 
that  were  hardly  fledged  ;  and  presently  her  teeth  watered  for 
a  taste  of  those  delicate  viands.  With  this  resolution,  up  she 
boldly  mounted  into  the  dove  house,  never  minding  whether  the 
master  were  there  or  no,  and  was  presently  with  great  joy  pre- 
paring to  satisfy  her  voluptuous  desires.  But  the  master  of  the 
place  no  sooner  saw  the  epicure  of  a  Cat  enter,  than  he  shut  up 
the  doors,  and  stopped  up  all  the  holes  at  which  it  was  possible 
for  her  to  get  out  again,  and  so  bestirred  himself  that  he 
caught  the  felonious  baggage,  and  hanged  her  up  at  the  corner 
of  the  pigeon  house.  Soon  after  this,  the  owner  of  the  Cat 
passing  that  way,  and  seeing  his  Cat  hanged,  '  Unfortunate 
greedy-gut,'  said  he,  'hadst  thou  been  contented  with  thy 
meaner  food,  thou  hadst  not  been  now  in  this  condition  ! 
Thus,'  continued  he,  moralizing  on  the  spectacle,  '  insatiable 
gluttons  are  the  procurers  of  their  own  untimely  ends.  Alas  ! 
the  felicities  of  this  world  are  uncertain,  and  of  no  continu- 
ance.     Wise  men,  I  well  remember,  say  there  is  no  reliance 


PILPAY'S  FABLES.  269 

upon  these  six  things,  nor  anything  of  fidelity  to  be  expected 
from  them  :  — 

"  '  1.  From  a  cloud  ;  for  it  disperses  in  an  instant. 

"'2.  From  feigned  friendship;  for  it  passes  away  like  a 
flash  of  lightning. 

" '  3.  From  a  woman's  love ;  for  it  changes  upon  every 
frivolous  fancy. 

" '  4.  From  beauty ;  for  the  least  injury  of  time,  misfortune, 
or  disease  destroys  it. 

" '  5.  From  false  prayers  ;  for  they  are  but  smoke. 

" '  6.  And  from  the  enjoyments  of  the  world  ;  for  they  all 
vanish  in  a  moment.' " 

"Men  of  judgment,"  replied  the  Rat,  "are  all  of  this 
opinion :  they  never  labor  after  these  vain  things ;  there  is 
nothing  but  the  acquisition  of  a  real  friend  can  tempt  us  to  the 
expectation  of  a  lasting  happiness." 

The  Raven  then  spoke  in  his  turn  :  "  There  is  no  earthly 
pleasure  or  advantage,"  said  he,  "  like  a  true  friend  ;  which  I 
shall  endeavor  to  prove,  by  the  recital  of  the  following  story." 

Fable  VIII. 

THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 

A  certain  Person,  of  a  truly  noble  and  generous  disposition, 
once  heard,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  somebody  knocking  at  his  door  at 
an  unseasonable  hour.  Somewhat  surprised  at  it,  he,  without 
stirring  out  of  his  place,  first  asked  who  was  there.  But  when 
by  the  answer  he  understood  that  it  was  one  of  his  best  friends, 
he  immediately  rose,  put  on  his  clothes,  and  ordering  his  ser- 
vant to  light  a  candle,  went  and  opened  the  door. 

So  soon  as  he  saw  him,  "  Dear  Friend,"  said  he,  "  I  at  all 
times  rejoice  to  see  you,  but  doubly  now,  because  I  promise 
myself,  from  this  extraordinary  visit,  that  I  can  be  of  some 
service  to  you.  I  cannot  imagine  your  coming  so  late  to  be  for 
any  other  reason,  but  either  to  borrow  money,  or  to  desire  me 
to  be  your  second,  and  I  am  very  happy  in  that  I  can  assure 
you  that  I  am  provided  to  serve  you  in  either  of  these  requests. 
If  you  want  money,  ray  purse  is  full,  and  it  is  open  to  all  your 
occasions.  If  you  are  to  meet  with  your  enemy,  my  arm  and 
sword  are  at   your   service."     "There  is  nothing  I  have  less 


270  PILPAY'S   FABLES. 

occasion  for,"  answered  his  Friend,  "  than  these  things  which  you 
proffer  me.  I  only  came  to  understand  the  condition  of  your 
health,  fearing  the  truth  of  an  unlucky  and  disastrous  dream." 

While  the  Raven  was  reciting  this  Fable,  our  set  of  friends 
beheld  at  a  distance  a  little  wild  Goat  making  towards  them 
with  an  incredible  swiftness. 

They  all  took  it  for  granted,  by  her  speed,  that  she  was 
pursued  by  some  hunter  ;  and  they  immediately  without  cere- 
mony separated,  every  one  to  take  care  of  himself.  The  Tor- 
toise slipped  into  the  water,  the  Rat  crept  into  a  hole  which  he 
accidentally  found  there,  and  the  Raven  hid  liimself  among 
the  boughs  of  a  very  high  tree.  In  the  mean  time  the  Goat 
stopped  all  of  a  sudden,  and  stood  to  rest  itself  by  the  side  of 
the  fountain ;  when  the  Raven,  who  looked  about  every  way, 
perceiving  nobody,  called  to  the  Tortoise,  who  immediately 
peeped  up  above  the  water  ;  and  seeing  the  Goat  afraid  to 
drink,  "  Drink  boldly,"  said  the  Tortoise,  "  for  the  water  is  very 
clear :  "  which  the  Goat  having  done,  "  Pray  tell  me,"  cried  the 
Tortoise,  "  what  is  the  reason  you  seem  to  be  in  such  a  fright?" 
"  Reason  enough,"  replied  the  Goat,  "  for  I  have  just  made  my 
escape  from  the  hands  of  a  Hunter,  wlio  pursued  me  with  an 
eager  chase." 

"  Come,"  said  the  Tortoise,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  safe,  and 
I  have  an  offer  to  make  you  :  if  you  can  like  our  company,  stay 
here,  and  be  one  of  our  friends ;  you  will  find,  1  assure  you, 
our  hearts  honest  and  our  conversation  beneficial.  Wise  men," 
continued  she,  "  say  that  the  number  of  friends  lessens  trouble  : 
and  that  if  a  man  had  a  thousand  friends,  he  ought  to  reckon 
them  no  more  than  as  one  ;  but,  on  the  other  side,  if  a  man  has 
but  one  enemy,  he  ought  to  reckon  that  one  for  a  thousand, 
so  dangerous  and  so  desperate  a  thing  is  an  avowed  enemy." 
After  this  discourse,  the  Raven  and  the  Rat  entered  into  com- 
pany with  the  Goat,  and  showed  her  a  thousand  civilities ;  with 
which  she  was  so  taken  that  she  promised  to  stay  there  as  long 
as  she  lived. 

These  four  friends,  after  this,  lived  in  perfect  harmony  a 
long  while,  and  spent  their  time  very  pleasantly  together. 
But  one  day,  as  the  Tortoise,  the  Rat,  and  the  Raven  had  met, 
as  they  used  to  do,  by  the  side  of  the  fountain,  the  Goat  was 
missing  ;  this  very  much  troubled  the  other  friends,  as  they 
knew  not  what  accident  might  have  befallen  her.     They  aoou 


PILPAY'S   FABLES.  271 

came  to  a  resolution,  however,  to  seek  for  and  assist  her  ;  and 
presently  the  Raven  mounted  up  into  the  air,  to  see  what  dis- 
coveries he  could  make,  and  looking  round  about  him,  at  length, 
to  his  great  sorrow,  saw  at  a  distance  the  poor  Goat  entangled 
in  a  Hunter's  net.  He  immediately  dropped  down,  on  this,  to 
acquaint  the  Rat  and  Tortoise  with  what  he  had  seen  ;  and  you 
may  be  well  assured  these  ill  tidings  extremely  afflicted  all  the 
three  friends. 

"  We  have  professed  a  strict  friendship  together,  and  long 
lived  happily  in  it,"  said  the  Tortoise  ;  "  and  it  will  be  shame- 
ful now  to  break  through  it,  and  leave  our  innocent  and  good- 
natured  friend  to  destruction  :  no,  we  must  find  some  way," 
continued  she,  "to  deliver  the  poor  Goat  out  of  captivity." 

On  this,  said  the  Raven  to  the  Rat,  "  Remember  now,  O 
excellent  Zirac  !  thy  own  talents,  and  exert  them  for  the  pub- 
lic good ;  there  is  none  but  you  can  set  our  friend  at  liberty  ; 
and  the  business  must  be  quickly  done,  for  fear  the  Huntsman 
lay  his  clutches  upon  her." 

"  Doubt  not  but  I  will  gladly  do  my  endeavor,"  replied  the 
Rat;  "therefore  let  us  go  immediately,  lest  we  lose  time." 
The  Raven,  on  this,  took  up  Zirac  in  his  bill,  and  carried  him 
to  the  place  ;  where  being  arrived,  he  fell  without  delay  to 
gnawing  the  meshes  that  held  the  Goat's  foot,  and  had  almost 
set  him  at  liberty  by  the  time  the  Tortoise  arrived.  So  soon  as 
the  Goat  perceived  this  slow-moving  friend,  she  sent  forth  a 
loud  cry  :  "  O  !  "  said  she,  "  why  have  you  ventured  yourself 
to  come  hither  ?  " 

"  Alas,"  replied  the  Tortoise,  "  I  could  no  longer  endure 
your  absence." 

"  Dear  Friend,"  said  the  Goat,  "  your  coming  to  this  place 
troubles  me  more  than  the  loss  of  my  own  liberty  ;  for  if  the 
Hunter  should  happen  to  come  at  this  instant,  what  will  you 
do  to  make  your  escape?  For  my  part  I  am  almost  unbound, 
and  my  swift  heels  will  prevent  me  from  falling  into  his  hands  ; 
the  Raven  will  find  his  safety  in  his  wings  ;  the  Rat  will  run 
into  any  hole  ;  only  you,  that  are  so  slow  of  foot,  will  become 
the  Hunter's  prey." 

No  sooner  had  the  Goat  spoken  the  words  than  the  Huntei- 
appeared  ;  but  the  Goat  being  loosened  ran  away  ;  the  Raven 
mounted  into  the  sky ;  the  Rat  slipped  into  a  hole ;  and,  as  the 
Goat  had  said,  only  the  slow-paced  Tortoise  remained  without 
help. 


272  PILPAY'S  FABLES. 

When  the  Hunter  arrived,  he  was  not  a  little  surprised  to 
find  his  net  broken.  This  was  no  small  vexation  to  him,  and 
made  him  look  narrowly  about,  to  see  if  he  could  discover  who 
had  done  him  the  injury  ;  and,  unfortunately,  in  searching,  he 
spied  the  Tortoise.  "  O  !  "  said  he,  "  very  well,  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  you  here  ;  I  find  I  shall  not  go  home  empty-handed,  how- 
ever, at  last  :  here's  a  plump  Tortoise,  and  that's  worth  some- 
thing, I'm  sure."  With  that  he  took  the  Tortoise  up,  put  it  in 
his  sack,  threw  the  sack  over  his  shoulder,  and  so  was  trudging 
home. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  three  friends  came  from  their  several 
places,  and  met  together,  when,  missing  the  Tortoise,  they 
easily  judged  what  was  become  of  her.  Then  sending  forth  a 
thousand  sighs,  they  made  most  doleful  lamentations,  and  shed 
a  torrent  of  tears.  At  length  the  Raven,  interrupting  this  sad 
harmony,  "  Dear  friends,"  said  he,  "our  moans  and  sorrows  do 
the  Tortoise  no  good  ;  we  ought,  instead  of  this,  if  it  be  possi- 
ble, to  think  of  a  way  to  save  her  life.  The  sages  of  former 
ages  have  informed  us  that  there  are  four  sorts  of  persons  that 
are  never  known  but  upon  the  proper  occasions  :  men  of  cour- 
age in  fight ;  men  of  honesty  in  business  ;  a  wife  in  her  hus- 
band's misfortunes  ;  and  a  true  friend  in  extreme  necessity. 
We  find,  alas  !  our  dear  friend  the  Tortoise  is  in  a  sad  condi- 
tion ;  and  therefore  we  must,  if  possible,  succor  her." 

"It  is  well  advised,"  replied  the  Rat,  "and  now  I  think 
on't,  an  expedient  is  come  into  my  head.  Let  the  Goat  go  and 
show  herself  in  the  Hunter's  eye,  who  will  then  be  sure  to  lay 
down  his  sack  to  run  after  her." 

"Very  well  advised,"  replied  the  Goat,  "I  will  pretend  to 
be  lame,  and  run  limping  at  a  little  distance  before  him,  wliich 
will  encourage  him  to  follow  me,  and  so  draw  him  a  good  way 
from  his  sack,  which  will  give  the  Rat  time  to  set  our  friend  at 
liberty."  This  stratagem  had  so  good  a  face  that  it  was  soon 
approved  by  them  all ;  and  immediately  the  Goat  ran  halting 
before  the  Hunter,  and  seemed  to  be  so  feeble  and  faint  that 
he  thought  he  had  her  safe  in  his  clutches ;  and  so  laying  down 
his  sack,  ran  after  the  Goat  with  all  his  might.  That  cunning 
creature  suffered  him  ever  and  anon  almost  to  come  up  to  her,  and 
then  led  him  another  green-goose  chase,  till  in  short  she  had 
fairly  dragged  him  out  of  sight ;  which  the  Rat  perceiving, 
came  and  gnawed  the  string  that  tied  the  sack,  and  let  out  the 
Tortoise,  who  went  and  hid  herself  in  a  thick  bush. 


^SOFS  FABLES.  273 

At  length  the  Hunter,  tired  with  running  in  vain  after  his 
prey,  left  off  the  chase,  and  returned  to  his  sack.  "  Here,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  something  safe  however  :  thou  art  not  quite  so 
swift  of  foot  as  this  plaguy  Goat ;  and  if  thou  wert,  art  too 
fast  here  to  find  the  way  to  make  thy  legs  of  any  use  to  thee." 
So  saying,  he  went  to  the  bag,  but  there  missing  the  Tortoise, 
he  was  in  amaze,  and  thought  himself  in  a  region  of  hobgoblins 
and  spirits.  He  could  not  but  stand  and  bless  himself,  that  a 
Goat  should  free  herself  out  of  his  nets,  and  by  and  by  run  hop- 
ping before  him,  and  make  a  fool  of  him  ;  and  that  in  the  mean 
while  a  Tortoise,  a  poor  feeble  creature,  should  break  the  string 
of  a  sack,  and  make  its  escape.  All  these  considerations  struck 
him  with  such  a  panic  fear,  that  he  ran  home  as  if  a  thousand 
robin  goodfellows  or  rawhead  and  bloody  bones  had  been  at  his 
heels.  After  which  the  four  friends  met  together  again,  con- 
gratulated each  other  on  their  escapes,  made  new  protestations 
of  friendship,  and  swore  never  to  separate  till  death  parted  them. 


^SOP'S   FABLES. 

Retold  bt  PHiEDRUS. 

[^sop  is  the  imaginary  author  of  a  collection  of  fables,  some  of  them  dat^ 
ing  back  to  archaic  Egyptian  times;  the  dates,  personal  history,  and  description, 
etc. ,  set  down  to  him  are  all  fictitious,  and  some  of  them  very  late  mediaeval  in- 
ventions. Phsedrus  was  a  Macedonian  slave  who  lived  in  Rome  during  the 
reigns  of  Augustus,  Tiberius,  and  Caligula,  and  rewrote  the  ^sopian  fables  in 
verse,  adding  some  new  ones,  besides  other  stories  with  a  moral  not  cast  in  fable 
form.] 

The  Wolf  and  the  Lamb. 

Driven  by  thirst,  a  Wolf  and  a  Lamb  had  come  to  the 
same  stream ;  the  Wolf  stood  above,  and  the  Lamb  at  a  dis- 
tance below.  Then  the  spoiler,  prompted  by  a  ravenous  maw, 
alleged  a  pretext  for  a  quarrel.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  have  you 
made  the  water  muddy  for  me  while  I  am  drinking  ?  "  The 
Fleece  bearer,  trembling,  answered :  "  Prithee,  Wolf,  how  can 
I  do  what  you  complain  of  ?  The  water  is  flowing  downwards 
from  you  to  where  I  am  drinking."  The  other,  disconcerted 
by  the  force  of  truth,  exclaimed,  "  Six  months  ago,  you  slan- 
dered me."     "Indeed,"  answered  the  Lamb,  "I  was  not  born 


274  ^SOFS  FABLES. 

then."  "By  Hercules,"  said  the  Wolf,  "then  'twas  your  father 
slandered  me  ; "  and  so,  snatching  him  up,  he  tore  him  to 
pieces,  killing  him  unjustly. 

The  Frogs  asking  for  a  King. 

The  Frogs,  roaming  at  large  in  their  marshy  fens,  with  loud 
clamor  demanded  of  Jupiter  a  king,  who,  b}"-  his  authority, 
might  check  their  dissolute  manners.  The  Father  of  the  Gods 
smiled,  and  gave  them  a  little  Log,  which,  on  being  thrown 
among  them,  startled  the  timorous  race  by  the  noise  and  sudden 
commotion  in  the  bog.  When  it  liad  lain  for  some  time  im- 
mersed in  the  mud,  one  of  them  by  chance  silently  lifted  his 
head  above  the  water,  and,  having  taken  a  peep  at  the  king, 
called  up  all  the  rest.  Having  got  the  better  of  their  fears, 
vying  with  each  other,  they  swim  towards  him,  and  the  inso- 
lent mob  leap  upon  the  Log.  After  defiling  it  with  every  kind 
of  insult,  they  sent  to  Jupiter,  requesting  another  king,  be- 
cause the  one  that  had  been  given  them  was  useless.  Upon 
this,  he  sent  them  a  Water  Snake,  who  with  his  sharp  teeth 
began  to  gobble  them  up  one  after  another.  Helpless  they 
strive  in  vain  to  escape  death ;  terror  deprives  them  of  voice. 
By  stealth,  therefore,  they  send  through  Mercury  a  request  to 
Jupiter,  to  succor  tliem  in  their  distress.  Then  said  the  God 
in  reply,  "  Since  you  would  not  be  content  with  your  good 
fortune,  continue  to  endure  your  bad  fortune." 

Fable  for  Parvenus. 

A  Jackdaw,  swelling  with  empty  pride,  picked  up  some 
feathers  which  had  fallen  from  a  Peacock,  and  decked  himself 
out  therewith  ;  upon  which,  despising  his  own  kind,  he  mingled 
with  a  beauteous  flock  of  Peacocks.  They  tore  his  feathers 
from  off  the  impudent  bird,  and  put  him  to  flight  with  their 
beaks.  The  Jackdaw,  thus  roughly  handled,  in  grief  hastened 
to  return  to  his  own  kind ;  repulsed  by  whom,  he  had  to  sub- 
rait  to  sad  disgrace.  Then  said  one  of  those  whom  he  had 
formerly  despised,  "  If  you  had  been  content  with  our  station, 
and  had  been  ready  to  put  up  with  what  nature  had  given,  you 
would  neither  have  experienced  the  former  affront,  nor  would 
your  ill  fortune  have  had  to  feel  the  additional  pang  of  this 
repulse." 


-aJSOP'S   FABLES.  275 

Shadow  and  Substance. 

As  a  Dog,  crossing  a  bridge,  was  carrying  a  piece  of  meat, 
he  saw  his  own  shadow  in  the  watery  mirror ;  and,  thinking 
that  it  was  another  booty  carried  by  another  dog,  attempted  to 
snatch  it  away ;  but  his  greediness  was  disappointed,  he  both 
dropped  the  food  which  he  was  holding  in  his  mouth,  and  was 
after  all  unable  to  reach  that  at  which  he  grasped. 

The  Alliance. 

A  Cow,  a  She- Goat,  and  a  Sheep,  patient  under  injuries, 
were  partners  in  the  forests  with  a  Lion.  When  they  had  cap- 
tured a  Stag  of  vast  bulk,  thus  spoke  the  Lion,  after  it  had 
been  divided  into  shares,  "Because  my  name  is  Lion,  I  take 
the  first ;  the  second  you  will  yield  to  me  because  I  am  coura- 
geous ;  then,  because  I  am  the  strongest,  the  third  will  fall  to 
my  lot;  if  any  one  touches  the  fourth,  woe  betide  him." 

Never  Help  a  Scoundrel  out  of  a  Scrape. 

A  bone  that  he  had  swallowed  stuck  in  the  jaws  of  a  Wolf. 
Thereupon,  overcome  by  extreme  pain,  he  began  to  tempt  all 
and  sundry  by  great  rewards  to  extract  the  cause  of  misery. 
At  length,  on  his  taking  an  oath,  a  Crane  was  prevailed  on, 
and,  trusting  the  length  of  her  neck  to  his  throat,  she  wrought, 
with  danger  to  herself,  a  cure  for  the  Wolf.  When  she  de- 
manded the  promised  reward  for  this  service,  "  You  are  un- 
grateful," replied  the  Wolf,  "  to  have  taken  your  head  in  safety 
out  of  my  mouth,  and  then  to  ask  for  a  reward." 

Your  Turn  may  Come. 

A  Sparrow  upbraided  a  Hare  that  had  been  pounced  upon 
by  an  Eagle,  and  was  sending  forth  piercing  cries.  "Where 
now,"  said  he,  "  is  that  fleetness  for  which  you  are  so  remark- 
able ?  Why  were  your  feet  thus  tardy  ? "  While  he  was 
speaking,  a  Hawk  seizes  him  unawares,  and  kills  him,  shrieking 
aloud  with  vain  complaints.  The  Hare,  almost  dead,  as  a  con- 
solation in  his  agony,  exclaimed,  "You,  who  so  lately,  free 
from  care,  were  ridiculing  my  misfortunes,  have  now  to  deplore 
your  own  fate  with  as  woful  cause." 


276  ^SOP'S  FABLES. 

A  Bad  Name  is  a  Bad  Investment. 

A  Wolf  indicted  a  Fox  upon  a  charge  of  theft ;  the  latter 
denied  it.  The  Ape  sat  as  judge  between  them  ;  and  when 
each  of  them  had  pleaded  his  cause,  is  said  to  have  pronounced 
this  sentence  :  "  You,  Wolf,  appear  not  to  have  lost  what  you 
ask  the  Fox  to  give  back  ;  you,  Fox,  to  have  stolen  from  the 
Wolf  what  you  deny  taking." 

Brag  only  to  Strangers. 

A  Lion  having  resolved  to  hunt  in  company  with  an  Ass, 
concealed  him  in  a  thicket,  and  at  the  same  time  enjoined  him 
to  frighten  the  wild  beasts  with  his  voice,  to  which  they  were 
unused,  while  he  himself  was  to  catch  them  as  they  fled.  Upon 
this,  Longears,  with  all  his  might,  suddenly  raised  a  cry,  and 
terrified  the  beasts  with  this  new  cause  of  astonishment. 
While  in  their  alarm,  they  are  flying  to  the  well-known  outlets, 
they  are  overpowered  by  the  dread  onset  of  the  Lion  ;  who, 
after  he  was  wearied  with  slaughter,  called  forth  the  Ass  from 
his  retreat,  and  bade  him  cease  his  clamor.  On  this  the  other 
in  his  insolence  inquired,  "  What  think  you  of  the  assistance 
given  by  my  voice  ?  "  "  Excellent !  "  said  the  Lion,  "  so  much 
so  that  if  I  had  not  been  acquainted  with  your  spirit  and  your 
race,  I  should  have  fled  in  alarm  like  the  rest." 

The  Showiest  Qualities  not  the  Most  Useful. 

A  Stag,  when  he  had  drunk  at  a  stream,  stood  still,  and 
gazed  upon  his  likeness  in  the  water.  While  there,  in  admira- 
tion, he  was  praising  his  branching  horns,  and  finding  fault 
with  the  extreme  thinness  of  his  legs,  suddenly  roused  by  the 
cries  of  the  huntsmen,  he  took  to  flight  over  the  plain,  and  with 
nimble  course  escaped  the  dogs.  Then  a  wood  received  the 
beast ;  in  which,  being  entangled  and  caught  by  his  horns,  the 
dogs  began  to  tear  him  to  pieces  with  savage  bites.  While  dy- 
ing, he  is  said  to  have  uttered  these  words  :  "  Oh,  how  un- 
happy am  I,  who  now  too  late  find  out  how  useful  to  me  were 
the  things  I  despised  ;  and  what  sorrow  the  things  I  used  to 
praise  have  caused  me." 


^SOP'S  FABLES.  277 

Flatterers  Have  Axes  to  Grind. 

As  a  Raven,  perched  in  a  lofty  tree,  was  about  to  eat  a  piece 
of  cheese,  stolen  from  a  window,  a  Fox  espied  him,  and  there- 
upon began  thus  to  speak  :  "  O  Raven,  what  a  glossiness  there 
is  upon  those  feathers  of  yours  I  What  grace  you  carry  in 
your  shape  and  air  !  If  you  had  a  voice,  no  bird  whatever 
would  be  superior  to  you."  On  this,  the  other,  attempting  to 
show  off  his  voice,  let  fall  the  cheese  from  his  mouth,  which 
the  crafty  Fox  instantly  snatched  up. 

All  Governtvients  alike  to  the  Poor. 

A  timorous  Old  Man  was  feeding  an  Ass  in  a  meadow. 
Frightened  by  a  sudden  alarm  of  the  enemy,  he  tried  to  per- 
suade the  Ass  to  fly,  lest  they  should  be  taken  prisoners.  But 
he  leisurely  replied :  "  Pray,  do  you  suppose  that  the  conqueror 
will  place  double  panniers  upon  me?"  The  Old  Man  said, 
"No."  "Then  what  matters  it  to  me,  so  long  as  I  have  to 
carry  my  panniers,  whom  I  serve  ?  " 

Avoid  Straw  Security. 

A  Stag  asked  a  Sheep  for  a  measure  of  wheat,  a  Wolf  being 
his  surety.  The  other,  however,  suspecting  fraud,  replied, 
"The  Wolf  has  always  been  in  the  habit  of  plundering  and 
absconding;  you,  of  rushing  out  of  sight  with  rapid  flight: 
where  am  I  to  look  for  you  both  when  the  day  comes  ?  " 

The  Entering  Wedge. 

A  She-Dog,  ready  to  whelp,  having  entreated  another  that  she 
might  give  birth  to  her  offspring  in  her  kennel,  easily  obtained 
the  favor.  Afterwards,  on  the  other  asking  for  her  place  back 
again,  she  renewed  her  entreaties,  earnestly  begging  for  a  short 
time,  until  she  might  be  enabled  to  lead  forth  her  whelps  when 
they  had  gained  sufficient  strength.  This  time  being  also 
expired,  the  other  began  more  urgently  to  press  for  her  abode. 
"If,"  said  the  tenant,  "you  are  a  match  for  me  and  my  litter  in 
a  fight,  I  will  leave." 

Kicking  the  Dying  Lion. 

As  a  Lion,  worn  out  with  years,  and  deserted  by  his 
strength,  lay  drawing  his  last  breath,  a  Wild  Boar  came  up 


278  iESOP'S  FABLES. 

to  him,  with  flashing  tusks,  and  with  a  blow  revenged  an  old 
affront.  Next,  with  hostile  horns,  a  Bull  pierced  the  body  of 
his  foe.  An  Ass,  on  seeing  the  wild  beast  maltreated  with 
impunity,  tore  up  his  forehead  with  his  heels.  On  this,  expir- 
ing, he  said :  "  I  have  borne,  with  indignation,  the  insults  of 
the  brave ;  but  in  being  inevitably  forced  to  bear  with  you, 
disgrace  to  nature  I  I  seem  to  die  a  double  death." 

Don't  Spare  One  Curse  for  Fear  of  Another. 

A  Weasel,  on  being  caught  by  a  Man,  wishing  to  escape 
impending  death,  "  Pray,"  said  she,  "  do  spare  me,  for  'tis  I 
who  keep  your  house  clear  of  troublesome  mice."  The  Man 
made  answer :  "  If  you  did  so  for  my  sake,  it  would  be  a  reason 
for  thanking  you,  and  I  should  have  granted  you  the  pardon 
you  entreat.  But  as  you  eat  up  all  they  would,  and  them  too, 
don't  think  of  placing  your  pretended  services  to  ray  account ;  " 
and  so  saying,  he  put  the  wicked  creature  to  death. 

Suspect  Sudden  Conversions. 

A  Thief  one  night  threw  a  crust  of  bread  to  a  Dog,  to  try 
whether  he  could  be  gained  by  the  proffered  victuals.  "  Hark 
you,"  said  the  Dog,  "  do  you  think  to  stop  my  tongue  so  that  I 
may  not  bark  for  my  master's  property  ?  You  are  greatly  mis- 
taken. For  this  sudden  liberality  bids  me  be  on  the  watch,  that 
you  may  not  profit  by  my  neglect." 

The  Frog  and  the  Ox. 

Once  on  a  time,  a  Frog  espied  an  Ox  in  a  meadow,  and 
moved  with  envy  at  his  vast  bulk,  puffed  out  her  wrinkled  skin, 
and  then  asked  her  young  ones  whether  she  was  bigger  than 
the  Ox.  They  said,  "  No."  Again,  with  still  greater  efforts, 
she  distended  her  skin,  and  in  like  manner  inquired  which  was 
the  bigger  :  they  said,  "The  Ox."  At  last,  while,  full  of  indig- 
nation, she  tried,  with  all  her  might,  to  pufif  herself  out,  she 
burst  her  body  on  the  spot. 

The  Fox  and  the  Stork. 

A  Fox  is  said  to  have  given  a  Stork  the  first  invitation  to  a 
banquet,  and  to  have  placed  before  her  some  thin  broth  in  a  flat 
dish,  of  which  the  hungry  Stork  could  in  no  way  get  a  taslo. 


iESOP'S  FABLER  279 

Having  invited  the  Fox  in  return,  she  set  before  him  a  narrow- 
mouthed  jar,  full  of  minced  meat  :  and,  thrusting  her  beak  into 
it,  satisfied  herself,  while  she  tormented  her  guest  with  hunger  ; 
who,  after  having  in  vain  licked  the  neck  of  the  jar,  as  we  have 
heard,  thus  addressed  the  foreign  bird :  "  Every  one  is  bound 
to  bear  patiently  the  results  of  his  own  example." 

Revenge  always  Finds  a  Way. 

An  Eagle  one  ciay  carried  off  the  whelps  of  a  Fox,  and  placed 
them  in  her  nest  before  her  young  ones,  for  them  to  tear  in 
pieces  as  food.  The  mother,  following  her,  began  to  entreat 
that  she  would  not  cause  such  sorrow  to  her  miserable  suppli- 
ant. The  other  despised  her,  as  being  safe  in  the  very  situation 
of  the  spot.  The  Fox  snatched  from  an  altar  a  burning  torch, 
and  surrounded  the  whole  tree  with  flames,  intending  to  mingle 
anguish  to  her  foe  with  the  loss  of  her  offspring.  The  Eagle, 
that  she  might  rescue  her  young  ones  from  the  peril  of  death,  in 
a  suppliant  manner  restored  to  the  Fox  her  whelps  in  safety. 

"Who  shall  Guakd  the  Guardians?" 

Some  Pigeons,  having  often  escaped  from  a  Kite,  and  by 
their  swiftness  of  wing  avoided  death,  the  spoiler  had  recourse 
to  stratagem,  and  by  a  crafty  device  of  this  nature  deceived 
the  harmless  race.  "  Why  do  you  prefer  to  live  a  life  of  anx- 
iety, rather  than  conclude  a  treaty,  and  make  me  your  king, 
who  can  insure  your  safety  from  every  injury  ?  "  They,  putting 
confidence  in  him,  intrusted  themselves  to  the  Kite,  who,  on 
obtaining  the  sovereignty,  began  to  devour  them  one  by  one, 
and  to  exercise  authority  with  his  cruel  talons.  Then  said  one 
of  those  that  were  left,  "  Deservedly  are  we  smitten." 

The  Man  and  the  Two  Women. 

A  Woman,  not  devoid  of  grace,  held  enthralled  a  certain 
Man  of  middle  age,  concealing  her  years  by  the  arts  of  the 
toilet ;  a  lovely  Young  creature,  too,  had  captivated  the  heart 
of  the  same  person.  Both,  as  they  were  desirous  to  appear  of 
the  same  age  with  him,  began,  each  in  her  turn,  to  pluck  out 
the  hair  of  the  Man.  While  he  imagined  that  he  was  made 
trim  by  the  care  of  the  women,  he  suddenly  found  himself 


280  -flESOFS  FABLEa 

bald  ;  for  the  Young  Woman  had  entirely  pulled  out  the  white 
hairs,  the  Old  Woman  the  black  ones. 

[This  is  a  dubious  piece  of  morality.  The  obvious  moral 
would  seem  to  be,  Don't  court  two  women  at  once ;  but  if  one 
may  take  them  as  successive,  it  would  be.  Keep  to  your  own 
sort :  wide  divergences  mean  unhappiness  and  injury.] 

Don't  Buy  Off  Blackmailers. 

A  Man,  torn  by  the  bite  of  a  savage  Dog,  threw  a  piece  of 
bread,  dipped  in  his  blood,  to  the  offender :  a  thing  that  he  had 
heard  was  a  remedy  for  the  wound.  Then  said  ^sop,  "  Don't 
do  this  before  many  dogs,  lest  they  devour  us  alive,  when  they 
know  that  such  is  the  reward  of  guilt." 


The  Fly  and  the  Mule. 

A  Fly  sat  on  the  pole  of  a  chariot,  and  rebuking  the  Mule  : 
"  How  slow  you  are,"  said  she ;  "  will  you  not  go  faster  ?  Take 
care  that  I  don't  prick  your  neck  with  my  sting."  The  Mule 
made  answer :  "  I  am  not  moved  by  your  words,  but  I  fear  him 
who,  sitting  on  the  next  seat,  guides  my  yoke  with  his  pliant 
whip,  and  governs  my  mouth  with  the  foam-covered  reins. 
Therefore,  cease  your  frivolous  impertinence,  for  I  well  know 
when  to  go  at  a  gentle  pace,  and  when  to  run." 


Servlle  Riches  versus  Free  Poverty. 

A  Wolf,  quite  starved  with  hunger,  chanced  to  meet  a  well- 
fed  Dog,  and  as  they  stopped  to  salute  each  other:  "Pray," 
said  the  Wolf,  "  how  is  it  that  you  are  so  sleek  ?  or  on  what  food 
have  you  made  so  much  flesh?  I,  who  am  far  stronger,  am 
perishing  with  hunger."  The  Dog  frankly  replied,  "You 
may  enjoy  the  same  condition,  if  you  can  render  the  like  ser- 
vice to  your  master."  "  What  is  it  ?  "  said  the  other.  "  To  be 
the  guardian  of  his  threshold,  and  to  protect  the  house  from 
thieves  at  night."  "  I  am  quite  ready  for  that,"  said  the  Wolf  ; 
"  at  present  I  have  to  endure  snow  and  showers,  dragging  on  a 
wretched  existence  in  the  woods.  How  much  more  pleasant 
for  me  to  be  living  under  a  roof,  and,  at  my  ease,  to  be  stuffed 
with  plenty  of  victuals."     "Come  along,  then,  with  me,"  said 


iESOFS  FABLES.  281 

the  Dog.  As  they  were  going  along,  the  Wolf  observed  the 
neck  of  the  Dog,  where  it  was  worn  with  the  chain.  "  Whence 
comes  this,  my  friend?"  "Oh,  it  is  nothing."  "Do  tell  me, 
though."  "Because  I  appear  to  be  fierce,  they  fasten  me  up 
in  the  daytime,  that  I  may  be  quiet  when  it  is  light,  and  watch 
when  night  comes ;  unchained  at  midnight,  I  wander  wherever 
I  please.  Bread  is  brought  me  without  my  asking ;  from  his 
own  table  my  master  gives  me  bones ;  the  servants  throw  me 
bits,  and  whatever  dainties  each  person  leaves ;  thus,  without 
trouble  on  my  part,  is  my  belly  filled."  "Well,  if  you  have  a 
mind  to  go  anywhere,  are  you  at  liberty  ?  "  "  Certainly  not," 
replied  the  Dog.  "  Then,  Dog,  enjoy  what  you  boast  of.  I 
would  not  be  a  king,  to  lose  my  liberty." 


"Handsome  is  as  Handsome  Does." 

A  certain  Man  had  a  very  ugly  Daughter,  and  also  a  Son, 
remarkable  for  his  handsome  features.  These,  diverting  them- 
selves as  children  do,  chanced  to  look  into  a  mirror,  as  it  lay 
upon  their  mother's  chair.  He  praises  his  own  good  looks ; 
she  is  vexed  and  cannot  endure  the  raillery  of  her  boasting 
brother,  construing  everything  (and  how  could  she  do  other- 
wise ?)  as  a  reproach  against  herself.  Accordingly,  off  she  runs 
to  her  Father,  to  be  avenged  on  him  in  her  turn  ;  and  with 
great  rancor  makes  a  charge  against  the  Son,  how  that  he, 
though  a  male,  has  been  meddling  with  a  thing  that  belongs  to 
the  women.  Embracing  them  both,  kissing  them,  and  dividing 
his  tender  affection  between  the  two,  he  said,  "  I  wish  you 
both  to  use  the  mirror  every  day :  you,  that  you  may  not  spoil 
your  beauty  by  vicious  conduct ;  you,  that  you  may  make 
amends  by  your  virtues  for  your  looks." 


The  Cock  and  the  Pearl. 

A  young  Cock,  while  seeking  for  food  on  a  dunghill,  found 
a  Pearl,  and  exclaimed  :  "  What  a  fine  thing  are  you  to  be 
lying  in  so  unseemly  a  place.  If  any  one  sensible  of  your  value 
had  espied  you  here,  you  would  long  ago  have  returned  to  your 
former  brilliancy.  And  it  is  I  who  have  found  you,  I  to  whom 
food  is  far  preferable !  I  can  be  of  no  use  to  you  or  you  to 
me." 


282  iESOP'S  FABLES. 

Real  Parenthood. 

A  Dog  said  to  a  Lamb  bleating  among  some  She-Goats, 
"Simpleton,  you  are  mistaken;  your  mother  is  not  here;  "  and 
pointed  out  some  Sheep  at  a  distance,  in  a  flock  by  themselves. 
"I  am  not  looking  for  her,"  said  the  Lamb,  "who,  when  she 
thinks  fit,  conceives,  then  carries  her  unknown  burden  for  a 
certain  number  of  months,  and  at  last  empties  out  the  fallen 
bundle;  but  for  her  who,  presenting  her  udder,  nourishes  me, 
and  deprives  her  young  ones  of  milk  that  I  may  not  go  with- 
out." "Still,"  said  the  Dog,  "she  ought  to  be  preferred 
who  brought  you  forth."  "  Not  at  all :  how  was  she  to  know 
whether  I  should  be  born  black  or  white?  [z'.g.  for  first  sacri- 
fice or  not].  However,  suppose  she  did  know,  seeing  I  was 
born  a  male,  truly  she  conferred  a  great  obligation  on  me  in 
giving  me  birth,  that  I  might  expect  the  butcher  every  hour. 
Why  should  she,  who  had  no  power  in  engendering  me,  be  pre- 
ferred to  her  who  took  pity  on  me  as  I  lay,  and  of  her  own 
accord  showed  me  a  welcome  affection?  It  is  kindliness  makes 
parents,  not  the  ordinary  course  of  Nature." 

Don't  Quarrel  with  Fate. 

A  Peacock  came  to  Juno,  complaining  sadly  that  she  had 
not  given  to  him  the  song  of  tlie  Nightingale;  that  it  was  the 
admiration  of  every  ear,  while  he  himself  was  laughed  at  the 
very  instant  he  raised  his  voice.  The  Goddess,  to  console  him, 
replied,  "  But  you  surpass  the  nightingale  in  beauty,  you  sur- 
pass him  in  size ;  the  brilliancy  of  the  emerald  sliines  upon  your 
neck;  and  you  unfold  a  tail  begemmed  with  painted  plumage." 
"  Wherefore  give  me,"  he  retorted,  "  a  beauty  that  is  dumb,  if 
I  am  surpassed  in  voice  ?  "  "  By  the  will  of  the  Fates,"  said 
she,  "  have  your  respective  qualities  been  assigned ;  beauty  to 
you,  strength  to  the  Eagle,  melody  to  the  Nightingale,  to  the 
Raven  presages,  unpropitious  omens  to  the  Crow:  all  of  these 
are  contented  with  their  own  endowments." 

The  Fox  and  the  Grapes. 

Urged  by  hunger,  a  Fox,  leaping  with  all  her  might,  tried 
to  reach  a  cluster  of  Grapes  upon  a  lofty  vine.  When  she 
found  she  could  not  reach  them,  she  left  them,  saying,  "  They 
are  not  ripe  yet ;  I  don't  like  to  eat  them  while  sour.*' 


iESOFS   FABLES.  283 

Biting  off  the  Nose  to  spite  the  Face. 

While  a  Wild  Boar  was  wallowing,  he  muddied  the  shallow 
water,  at  which  a  Horse  had  been  in  the  habit  of  quenching  his 
thirst.  Upon  this,  a  disagreement  arose.  The  Horse,  enraged 
with  the  beast,  sought  the  aid  of  man,  and,  raising  him  on  his 
back,  returned  against  the  foe.  After  the  Horseman,  hurling 
his  javelins,  had  slain  the  Boar,  he  is  said  to  have  spoken  thus : 
"I  am  glad  that  I  gave  assistance  at  your  entreaties,  for  I 
have  captured  a  prey,  and  have  learned  how  useful  you  are  ;  " 
and  so  compelled  him,  unwilling  as  he  was,  to  submit  to  the 
rein.  Then  said  the  Horse,  sorrowing,  "  Fool  that  I  am  ! 
while  seeking  to  revenge  a  trifling  matter,  I  have  met  with 
slavery. " 

Strong  Spirits  can  Disdain  Slanderers. 

A  Viper  came  into  a  smith's  workshop  ;  and  while  on  the 
search  whether  there  was  anything  fit  to  eat,  fastened  her  teeth 
upon  a  File.  The  latter,  however,  disdainfully  exclaimed, "  Why, 
fool,  do  you  try  to  wound  me  with  your  teeth,  who  am  in  the 
habit  of  gnawing  asunder  every  kind  of  iron  ?  " 

Suspect  a  Scamp's  Good  Offices. 

A  Fox  having  fallen  into  a  well,  and  being  closed  in  by  the 
sides,  which  were  too  high  for  her,  a  Goat  parched  with  thirst 
came  to  the  same  spot,  and  asked  whether  the  water  was  good 
and  in  plenty.  The  other,  devising  a  stratagem,  replied, 
"  Come  down,  my  friend  :  such  is  the  goodness  of  the  water 
that  my  pleasure  in  drinking  cannot  be  satisfied."  Longbeard 
descended  ;  then  the  Fox,  mounting  on  his  high  horns,  escaped 
from  the  well,  and  left  the  Goat  to  stick  fast  in  the  inclosed 
mud. 

Of  the  Vices  of  Men. 

Jupiter  has  loaded  us  with  a  couple  of  Wallets  :  the  one, 
filled  with  our  own  vices,  he  has  placed  at  our  backs;  the  other, 
heavy  with  those  of  others,  he  has  hung  before. 

From  this  circumstance  we  are  not  able  to  see  our  own 
faults ;  but  as  soon  as  others  make  a  slip,  we  are  ready  to 
censure. 


284  ^SOFS   FABLES. 

The  She-Goats  and  their  Beards. 

The  She-Goats  having  obtained  of  Jupiter  the  favor  of  a 
beard,  the  He-Goats,  full  of  concern,  began  to  be  indignant  that 
the  females  rivaled  them  in  their  dignity.  "  Suffer  them," 
said  the  God,  "to  enjoy  their  empty  honors,  and  to  use  the 
badge  that  belongs  to  your  rank,  so  long  as  they  are  not  sharers 
in  your  courage." 

The  Man  and  the  Snake. 

A  Man  took  up  a  Snake,  stiffened  with  frost,  and  warmed 
her  in  his  bosom,  being  compassionate  to  his  own  undoing  ;  for 
when  she  had  recovered,  she  instantly  killed  the  Man.  On 
another  one  asking  her  the  reason  of  this  crime,  she  made 
answer,  "That  people  may  learn  not  to  assist  the  wicked." 

The  Mountain  in  Labor. 

A  Mountain  was  in  labor,  sending  forth  dreadful  groans, 
and  there  was  in  the  districts  the  highest  expectation.  After 
all,  it  brought  forth  a  Mouse. 

The  Bald  Man  and  the  Fly. 

A  "v'ly  bit  the  bare  pate  of  a  Bald  Man,  who,  endeavoring 
to  crush  it,  gave  himself  a  heavy  blow.  Then  said  the  Fly, 
jeeringly  :  "  You  wanted  to  revenge  the  sting  of  a  tiny  insect 
with  death  ;  what  will  you  do  to  yourself,  who  have  added 
insult  to  injury  ?  "  The  Man  made  answer  :  "  I  am  easily 
reconciled  to  myself,  because  I  know  that  there  was  no  intention 
of  doing  harm.  But  you,  worthless  insect,  and  one  of  a  con- 
temptible race,  who  take  a  delight  in  drinking  human  blood,  1 
could  wish  to  destroy  you,  even  at  a  heavier  penalty." 

Avoid  Ill-gotten  Wealth. 

A  Man  having  sacrificed  a  young  boar  to  the  god  Hercules, 
to  whom  he  owed  performance  of  a  vow  made  for  the  preser- 
vation of  his  health,  ordered  the  remains  of  the  barley  to  be  set 
for  the  Ass.  But  he  refused  to  touch  it,  and  said,  "  I  would 
most  willingly  accept  your  food,  if  he  who  had  been  fed  upon 
it  had  not  had  his  throat  cut." 


Fm  McCOUL.  285 

FIN  McCOUL. 
A  Legend  op  Knockmant. 

By  WILLIAM  CARLETON. 

[William  Carleton,  a  leading  writer  of  Irish  peasant  stories  and  sketches 
and  novels  of  Irish  life  in  general,  was  born  in  County  Tyrone  in  1798.  A 
poor  boy,  scantily  educated  in  a  hedge  school,  he  passed  two  years  (16-18)  in  a 
relative's  academy,  went  to  Dublin,  and  in  1830  and  1832  published  two  series 
of  "Traits  and  Stories  of  the  Irish  Peasantry,"  which  were  very  successful.  In 
1839  he  produced  a  novel,  " Fardorougha,  the  Miser"  ;  and  in  1841  three  vol- 
umes of  tales  mostly  pathetic  —  but  one  story  in  a  more  buoyant  vein,  "The 
Misfortunes  of  Barney  Branagan,"  was  very  popular.  In  1845  he  issued  "  Val- 
entine M'Clutchy,"  a  "repeal"  novel;  1846,  "  Rody  the  Rover"  ;  1847,  "The 
Black  Prophet"  ;  1849,  "The  Tithe  Proctor"  ;  1855,  "Willy  Reilly,"  3  vols.  ; 
1860  "  The  Evil  Eye."  He  long  received  a  pension  of  £200  a  year  for  his  great 
literary  merits.     He  died  January,  1869.] 

What  Irish  man,  woman,  or  child  has  not  heard  of  our  re- 
nowned Hibernian  Hercules,  the  great  and  glorious  Fin  M'Coul  ? 
Not  one,  from  Cape  Clear  to  the  Giant's  Causeway,  nor  from 
that  back  again  to  Cape  Clear.  And  by  the  way,  speaking  of 
the  Giant's  Causeway,  brings  me  at  once  to  the  beginning  of  my 
story.  Well,  it  so  happened  that  Fin  and  his  gigantic  relatives 
were  all  working  at  the  Causeway,  in  order  to  make  a  bridge, 
or  what  was  still  better,  a  good  stout  pad  road,  across  to  Scot- 
land ;  when  Fin,  who  was  very  fond  of  his  wife  Oonagh,  took 
it  into  his  head  that  he  would  go  home  and  see  how  the  poor 
woman  got  on  in  his  absence.  To  be  sure,  Fin  was  a  true  Irish- 
man, and  so  the  sorrow  thing  in  life  brought  him  back,  only  to 
see  that  she  was  snug  and  comfortable,  and,  above  all  things, 
that  she  got  her  rest  well  at  night ;  for  he  knew  that  the  poor 
woman,  when  he  was  with  her,  used  to  be  subject  to  nightly 
qualms  and  configurations,  that  kept  him  very  anxious,  decent 
man,  striving  to  keep  her  up  to  the  good  spirits  and  health  that 
she  had  when  they  were  first  married.  So,  accordingly,  he 
pulled  up  a  fir  tree;  and  after  lopping  off  the  roots  and  branches, 
made  a  walking  stick  of  it,  and  set  out  on  his  way  to  Oonagh. 

Oonagh,  or  rather  Fin,  lived  at  this  time  on  the  very  tip  top 
of  Knockmany  Hill,  which  faces  a  cousin  of  its  own  called  Culla- 
more,  that  rises  up,  half  hill,  half  mountain,  on  the  opposite  side 
—  east-east  by  south,  as  the  sailors  say,  when  they  wish  to  puz- 
zle a  landsman. 


286  FIN  McCOUL. 

Now,  the  truth  is,  for  it  must  come  out,  that  honest  Fin's 
affection  for  his  wife,  though  cordial  enough  in  itself,  was  by  no 
manner  of  means  the  real  cause  of  his  journey  home.  There  was 
at  that  time  another  giant,  named  CucuUin,  —  some  say  he  was 
Irish,  and  some  say  he  was  Scotch,  —  but  whether  Scotch  or 
Irish,  sorrow  doubt  of  it  but  he  was  a  larger.  No  other  giant  of 
the  day  could  stand  before  him  ;  and  such  was  his  strength  that, 
when  well  vexed,  he  could  give  a  stamp  that  shook  the  country 
about  him.  The  fame  and  name  of  him  went  far  and  near ;  and 
nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  it  was  said,  had  any  chance  with 
him  in  a  fight.  Whether  the  story  is  true  or  not,  I  cannot  say, 
but  the  report  went  that  by  one  blow  of  his  fists  he  flattened  a 
thunderbolt,  and  kept  it  in  his  pocket  in  the  shape  of  a  pancake, 
to  show  to  all  his  enemies  when  they  were  about  to  fight  him. 
Undoubtedly  he  had  given  every  giant  in  Ireland  a  considerable 
beating,  barring  Fin  M'Coul  himself  ;  and  he  swore,  by  the  sol- 
emn contents  of  Moll  Kelly's  Primer,  that  he  would  never  rest, 
night  or  day,  winter  or  summer,  till  he  would  serve  Fin  with 
the  same  sauce,  if  he  could  catch  him. 

Fin,  however,  who  no  doubt  was  the  cock  of  the  walk  on  his 
own  dunghill,  had  a  strong  disinclination  to  meet  a  giant  who 
could  make  a  young  earthquake,  or  flatten  a  thunderbolt  when 
he  was  angry;  so  he  accordingly  kept  dodging  about  from  place 
to  place,  not  much  to  his  credit  as  a  Trojan,  to  be  sure,  when- 
ever he  happened  to  get  the  hard  word  that  CucuUin  was  on  the 
scent  of  him.  This,  then,  was  the  marrow  of  the  whole  move- 
ment, although  he  put  it  on  his  anxiety  to  see  Oonagh  ;  and  I 
am  not  saying  but  there  was  some  truth  in  that  too.  However, 
the  short  and  long  of  it  was,  with  reverence  be  it  spoken,  that 
he  heard  Cucullin  was  coming  to  the  Causeway  to  have  a  trial 
of  strength  with  him  ;  and  he  was  naturally  enough  seized,  in 
consequence,  with  a  very  warm  and  sudden  fit  of  affection  for 
his  wife,  poor  woman,  who  was  delicate  in  her  health,  and  lead- 
ing, besides,  a  very  lonely,  uncomfortable  life  of  it  (he  assured 
them)  in  his  absence.  He  accordingly  pulled  up  the  fir  tree,  as 
I  said  before,  and  having  snedded  it  into  a  walking  stick,  set 
out  on  his  affectionate  travels  to  see  his  darling  Oonagh  on  the 
top  of  Knockmany,  by  the  way. 

In  truth,  to  state  the  suspicions  of  the  country  at  that  time, 
the  people  wondered  very  much  why  it  was  that  Fin  selected 
such  a  windy  spot  for  his  dwelling  house,  and  they  even  went 
so  far  as  to  tell  him  as  much. 


FIN  McCOUL.  287 

"What  can  you  mane,  Mr.  M'Coul,"  said  they,  "by  pitching 
your  tent  upon  the  top  of  Knockmany,  where  you  never  are 
without  a  breeze,  day  or  night,  winter  or  summer,  and  where 
you're  often  forced  to  take  your  nightcap  [the  cloud  that  hangs 
about  the  peak  of  a  mountain]  without  either  going  to  bed  or 
turning  up  your  little  finger  ;  ay,  an'  where,  besides  this,  there's 
the  sorrow's  own  want  of  water  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Fin,  "  ever  since  I  was  the  height  of  a  round 
tower,  I  was  known  to  be  fond  of  having  a  good  prospect  of  my 
own  ;  and  where  the  dickens,  neighbors,  could  I  find  a  better 
spot  for  a  good  prospect  than  the  top  of  Knockmany  ?  As  for 
water,  I  am  sinking  a  pump  [there  is  upon  the  top  of  this  hill 
an  opening  that  bears  a  very  strong  resemblance  to  the  crater 
of  an  extinct  volcano],  and,  plase  goodness,  as  soon  as  the 
Causeway's  made,  I  intend  to  finish  it." 

Now,  this  was  more  of  Fin's  philosophy ;  for  the  real  state  of 
the  case  was,  that  he  pitched  upon  the  top  of  Knockmany  in 
order  that  he  might  be  able  to  see  Cucullin  coming  towards  the 
house,  and  of  course  that  he  himself  might  go  to  look  after  his 
distant  transactions  in  other  parts  of  the  country,  rather  than  — 
but  no  matter  —  we  do  not  wish  to  be  too  hard  on  Fin.  All  we 
have  to  say  is,  that  if  he  wanted  a  spot  from  which  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout,  —  and  between  ourselves,  he  did  want  it  griev- 
ously,—barring  Slieve  Croob,  or  Slieve  Donard,  or  its  own 
cousin  Cullamore,  he  could  not  find  a  neater  or  more  conven- 
ient situation  for  it  in  the  sweet  and  sagacious  province  of 
Ulster. 

"  God  save  all  here  !  "  said  Fin,  good-humoredly,  on  put- 
ting his  honest  face  into  his  own  door. 

"  Musha,  Fin,  avick,  an'  you're  welcome  home  to  your  own 
Oonagh,  you  darlin'  bully."  Here  followed  a  smack  that  is 
said  to  have  made  the  waters  of  the  lake  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  curl,  as  it  were,  with  kindness  and  sympathy. 

"  Faith,"  said  Fin,  "  beautiful ;  an'  how  are  you,  Oonagh  — 
and  how  did  you  sport  your  figure  during  my  absence*^  my 
bilberry  ?  " 

"  Never  a  merrier  —  as  bouncing  a  grass  widow  as  ever  there 
was  in  sweet  '  Tyrone  among  the  bushes.'  " 

Fin  gave  a  short,  good-humored  cough,  and  laughed  most 
heartily,  to  show  her  how  much  he  was  delighted  that  she  made 
herself  happy  in  his  absence. 

"  An'  what  brought  you  home  so  soon.  Fin  ?  "  said  she. 


288  FIN  McCOUL. 

"  Why,  avourneen,"  said  Fin,  putting  in  his  answer  in  the 
proper  way,  "  never  the  thing  but  the  purest  of  love  and  affec- 
tion for  yourself.  Sure  you  know  that's  truth,  anyhow, 
Oonagh." 

Fin  spent  two  or  three  happy  days  with  Oonagh,  and  felt  him- 
self very  comfortable,  considering  the  dread  he  had  of  Cucullin. 
This,  however,  grew  upon  him  so  much  that  his  wife  could  not 
but  perceive  something  lay  on  his  mind  which  he  kept  alto- 
gether to  himself.  Let  a  woman  alone,  in  the  mean  time,  for 
ferreting  or  wheedling  a  secret  out  of  her  good  man,  when  she 
wishes.     Fin  was  a  proof  of  this. 

"  It's  this  Cucullin,"  said  he,  "  that's  troubling  me.  When 
the  fellow  gets  angry,  and  begins  to  stamp,  he'll  shake  you  a 
whole  townland  ;  and  it's  well  known  that  he  can  stop  a  thunder- 
bolt, for  he  always  carries  one  about  him  in  the  shape  of  a  pan- 
cake, to  show  to  any  one  that  might  misdoubt  it." 

As  he  spoke,  he  clapped  his  thumb  in  his  mouth,  which 
he  always  did  when  he  wanted  to  prophesy,  or  to  know  any- 
thing that  happened  in  his  absence  ;  and  the  wife,  who  knew 
what  he  did  it  for,  said  very  sweetly,  "Fin,  darling,  I  hope 
you  don't  bite  your  thumb  at  me,  dear  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fin  ;  "  but  I  bite  my  thumb,  acushla,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  jewel ;  but  take  care  and  don't  draw  blood,"  said  she. 
"Ah,  Fin  1  don't,  my  bully —  don't." 

"He's  coming,"  said  Fin;  "I  see  him  below  Dungannon." 

"  Thank  goodness,  dear !  an'  who  is  it,  avick  ?  Glory  be 
to  God  I  " 

"  That  baste,  Cucullin,"  replied  Fin  ;  "  and  how  to  manage  I 
don't  know.  If  I  run  away,  I  am  disgraced  ;  and  I  know  that 
sooner  or  later  I  must  meet  him,  for  my  thumb  tells  me  so." 

"  When  will  he  be  here  ?  "  said  she. 

"  To-morrow,  about  two  o'clock,"  replied  Fin,  with  a  groan. 

"  Well,  my  bully,  don't  be  cast  down,"  said  Oonagh  ;  "  de- 
pend on  me,  and  maybe  I'll  bring  you  better  out  of  this  scrape 
than  ever  you  could  bring  yourself,  by  your  rule  o'  thumb." 

This  quieted  Fin's  heart  very  much,  for  he  knew  that 
Oonagh  was  hand  and  glove  with  the  fairies ;  and  indeed,  to 
tell  the  truth,  she  was  supposed  to  be  a  fairy  herself.  If  she 
was,  however,  she  must  have  been  a  kind-hearted  one,  for  by  all 
accounts  she  never  did  anything  but  good  in  the  neighborhood. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Oonagh  had  a  sister  named 
Granua,  living  opposite  them,  on  the  very  top  of  Cullamore, 


Pm  McCOUL.  289 

which  I  have  mentioned  already,  and  this  Granua  was  quite  as 
powerful  as  herself.  The  beautiful  valley  that  Kes  between 
them  is  not  more  than  about  three  or  four  miles  broad,  so  that 
of  a  summer's  evening,  Granua  and  Oonagh  were  able  to  hold 
many  an  agreeable  conversation  across  it,  from  the  one  hilltop  to 
the  other.  Upon  this  occasion  Oonagh  resolved  to  consult  her 
sister  as  to  what  was  best  to  be  done  in  the  difficulty  that  sur- 
rounded them. 

"  Granua,"  said  she,  "  are  you  at  home  ?  " 
"No,"  said  the  other;    "I'm  picking  bilberries  in  Altha- 
dhawan"  (Anglic^,  the  Devil's  Glen). 

"  Well,"  said  Oonagh,  "  get  up  to  the  top  of  Cullamore,  look 
about  you,  and  then  tell  us  what  you  see." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Granua  ;  after  a  few  minutes,  "  I  am 
there  now." 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  Goodness  be  about  us  !  "  exclaimed  Granua,  "  I  see  the  big- 
gest giant  that  ever  was  known  coming  up  from  Dungannon." 
"  Ay,"  said  Oonagh,  "  there's  our  difficulty.    That  giant  is 
the  great  Cucullin  ;   and  he's  now  comin'  up  to  leather  Fin 
What's  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  I'll  call  to  him,"  she  replied,  "  to  come  up  to  Cullamore  and 
refresh  himself,  and  maybe  that  will  give  you  and  Fin  time  to 
think  of  some  plan  to  get  yourselves  out  of  the  scrape.  But," 
she  proceeded,  "  I'm  short  of  butter,  having  in  the  house  only 
half  a  dozen  firkins,  and  as  I'm  to  have  a  few  giants  and  giant- 
esses to  spend  the  evenin'  with  me,  I'd  feel  thankful,  Oonagh, 
if  you'd  throw  me  up  fifteen  or  sixteen  tubs,  or  the  largest 
miscaun  you  have  got,  and  you'll  oblige  me  very  much." 

"  I'll  do  that  with  a  heart  and  a  half,"  replied  Oonagh  ; 
"  and,  indeed,  Granua,  I  feel  myself  under  great  obligations  to 
you  for  your  kindness  in  keeping  him  off  of  us  till  we  see  what 
can  be  done  ;  for  what  would  become  of  us  all  if  anything  hap- 
pened Fin,  poor  man." 

She  accordingly  got  the  largest  miscaun  of  butter  she  had  — 
which  might  be  about  the  weight  of  a  couple  a  dozen  mill- 
stones, so  that  you  may  easily  judge  of  its  size  — and  calling  up 
to  her  sister,  "  Granua,"  said  she,  "  are  you  ready  ?  I'm  going 
to  throw  you  up  a  miscaun,  so  be  prepared  to  catch  it." 

"  I  will,"  said  the  other  ;  "  a  good  throw  now,  and  take  care 
it  does  not  fall  short." 

Oonagh  threw  it ;  but,  in  consequence  of  her  anxiety  about 


290  FIN  McCOUL. 

Fin  and  Cucullin,  she  forgot  to  say  the  charm  that  was  to  send 
it  up,  so  that,  instead  of  reaching  Cullamore,  as  she  expected, 
it  fell  about  halfway  between  the  two  hills,  at  the  edge  of  the 
Broad  Bog  near  Augher. 

"  My  curse  upon  you  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  you've  disgraced 
me.  I  now  change  you  into  a  gray  stone.  Lie  there  as  a  tes- 
timony of  what  has  happened  ;  and  may  evil  betide  the  first 
living  man  that  will  ever  attempt  to  remove  or  injure  you  !  " 

And,  sure  enough,  there  it  lies  to  this  day,  with  the  mark  of 
the  four  fingers  and  thumb  imprinted  in  it,  exactly  as  it  came 
out  of  her  hand. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Granua,  "  I  must  only  do  the  best  I  can 
with  Cucullin.  If  all  fail,  I'll  give  him  a  cast  of  heather  broth 
to  keep  the  wind  out  of  his  stomach,  or  a  panada  of  oak  bark  to 
draw  it  in  a  bit ;  but,  above  all  things,  think  of  some  plan  to 
get  Fin  out  of  the  scrape  he's  in,  otherwise  he's  a  lost  man. 
You  know  you  used  to  be  sharp  and  ready  witted ;  and  my  own 
opinion,  Oonagh,  is  that  it  will  go  hard  with  you  or  you'll 
outdo  Cucullin  yet." 

She  then  made  a  high  smoke  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  after 
which  she  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth  and  gave  three  whistles, 
and  by  that  Cucullin  knew  he  was  invited  to  Cullamore  —  for 
this  was  the  way  that  the  Irish  long  ago  gave  a  sign  to  all 
strangers  and  travelers,  to  let  them  know  they  were  welcome 
to  come  and  take  share  of  whatever  was  going. 

In  the  mean  time.  Fin  was  very  melancholy,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  do  or  how  to  act  at  all.  Cucullin  was  an  ugly 
customer,  no  doubt,  to  meet  with ;  and,  moreover,  the  idea  of 
the  confounded  "  cake  "  aforesaid  flattened  the  very  heart  within 
him.  What  chance  could  he  have,  strong  and  brave  though  he 
was,  with  a  man  who  could,  when  put  in  a  passion,  walk  the 
country  into  earthquakes  and  knock  thunderbolts  into  pan- 
cakes ?  The  thing  was  impossible  ;  and  Fin  knew  not  on  what 
hand  to  turn  him.  Right  and  left  —  backward  or  forward  — 
where  to  go  he  could  form  no  guess  whatsoever. 

"  Oonagh,"  said  he,  "  can  you  do  nothing  for  me  ?  Where's 
all  your  invention  ?  Am  I  to  be  skivered  like  a  rabbit  before 
your  eyes,  and  to  have  my  name  disgraced  forever  in  the  sight 
of  all  my  tribe,  and  me  the  best  man  among  them  ?  How  am  I 
to  fight  this  man  mountain — this  huge  cross  between  an  earth- 
quake and  a  thunderbolt  ?  —  with  a  pancake  in  his  pocket  that 
was  once " 


FIN  McCOUL.  291 

"Be  easy,  Fin,"  replied  Oonagh  ;  "troth,  I'm  ashamed  of 

you.     Keep  your  toe  in  your  pump,  will  you  ?     Talking  of  pan- 
cakes, maybe  we'll  give  him  as  good  as  any  he  brings  with  him 
—  thunderbolt  or  otherwise.     If  I  don't  treat  him  to  as  smart 
feeding  as  he's  got  this  many  a  day,  never  trust  Oonagh  again 
Leave  him  to  me,  and  do  just  as  I  bid  you." 

This  relieved  Fin  very  much  ;  for,  after  all,  he  had  great 
confidence  in  his  wife,  knowing,  as  he  did,  that  she  had  got  him 
out  of  many  a  quandary  before.  The  present,  however,  was 
the  greatest  of  all ;  but  still  he  began  to  get  courage,  and  was 
able  to  eat  his  victuals  as  usual.  Oonagh  then  drew  the  nine 
woolen  threads  of  different  colors,  which  she  always  did  to 
hnd  out  the  best  way  of  succeeding  in  anything  of  importance 
she  went  about.  She  then  platted  them  into  three  plats  with 
three  colors  in  each,  putting  one  on  her  right  arm,  one  round 
her  heart,  and  the  third  round  her  right  ankle,  for  then  she 
knew  that  nothing  could  fail  with  her  that  she  undertook. 

Having  everything  now  prepared,  she  sent  round  to  the 
neighbors  and  borrowed  one  and  twenty  iron  griddles,  which 
she  took  and  kneaded  into  the  hearts  of  one  and  twenty  cakes 
of  bread,  and  these  she  baked  on  the  fire  in  the  usual  way,  set- 
ting them  aside  in  the  cupboard  according  as  they  were  done 
She  then  put  down  a  large  pot  of  new  milk,  which  she  made 
into  curds  and  whey,  and  gave  Fin  due  instructions  how  to  use 
the  curds  when  Cucullin  should  come.     Having  done  all  this 
she  sat  down  quite  contented,  waiting  for  his  arrival  on  the  next 
day  about  two  o'clock,  that  being  the  hour  at  which  he  was 
expected  —for  Fin  knew  as  much  by  the  sucking  of  his  thumb 
Now,  this  was  a  curious  property  that  Fin's  thumb  had  ;  but, 
notwithstanding  all  the  wisdom  and  logic  he  used  to  suck  out 
of  it,  it  could  never  have  stood  to  him  here  were  it  not  for  the 
wit  of  his  wife.     In  this  very  thing,  moreover,  he  was  very 
much  resembled  by  his  great  foe,  Cucullin  ;  for  it  was  well 
known  that  the  huge  strength  he  possessed  all  lay  in  the  middle 
finger  of  his  right  hand,  and  that  if  he  happened  by  any  mis- 
chance to  lose  it,  he  was  no  more,  notwithstanding  his  bulk,  than 
a  common  man. 

At  length,  the  next  day,  he  was  seen  coming  across  the  val- 
ley, and  Oonagh  knew  that  it  was  time  to  commence  operations. 
She  immediately  made  the  cradle,  and  desired  Fin  to  lie  down 
in  It,  and  cover  himself  up  with  the  clothes. 

"  You  must  pass  for  your  own  child,"  said  she  ;  «  so  just  Uq 


292  FIN  McCOUL. 

there  snug,  and  say  nothing,  but  be  guided  by  me."  This,  to 
be  sure,  was  wormwood  to  Fin,  —  I  mean  going  into  the  cradle 
in  such  a  cowardly  manner,  —  but  he  knew  Oonagh  well  ;  and 
finding  that  he  had  nothing  else  for  it,  with  a  very  rueful  face 
he  gathered  himself  into  it,  and  lay  snug,  as  she  had  desired  him. 

About  two  o'clock,  as  he  had  been  expected,  Cucullin  came 
in.  "  God  save  all  here  ! "  said  he  ;  "  is  this  where  the  great 
Fin  M'Coul  lives  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,  honest  man,"  replied  Oonagh  ;  "  God  save 
you  kindly  —  won't  you  be  sitting  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  he,  sitting  down  ;  "  you're  Mrs. 
M'Coul,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  have  no  reason,  I  hope,  to  be 
ashamed  of  my  husband." 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  "  he  has  the  name  of  being  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  man  in  Ireland  ;  but  for  all  that,  there's  a  man 
not  far  from  you  that's  very  desirous  of  taking  a  shake  with 
him.     Is  he  at  home  ?  " 

"Why,  then,  no,"  she  replied  ;  "and  if  ever  a  man  left  his 
house  in  a  fury,  he  did.  It  appears  that  some  one  told  him  of 
a  big  basthoon  of  a  giant  called  Cucullin  being  down  at  the 
Causeway  to  look  for  him,  and  so  he  set  out  there  to  try  if  he 
could  catch  him.  Troth,  I  hope,  for  the  poor  giant's  sake,  he 
won't  meet  with  him,  for  if  he  does.  Fin  will  make  paste  of  him 
at  once." 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  "I  am  Cucullin,  and  I  have  been  seek- 
ing him  these  twelve  months,  but  he  always  kept  clear  of  me; 
and  I  will  never  rest,  night  or  day,  till  I  lay  my  hands  on  him." 

At  this  Oonagh  set  up  a  loud  laugh  of  great  contempt,  by 
the  way,  and  looked  at  him  as  if  he  was  only  a  mere  handful 
of  a  man. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Fin  ?  "  said  she,  changing  her  manner 
all  at  once. 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  he  always  took  care  to  keep 
his  distance." 

"  I  thought  so,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  judged  as  much  ;  and  if 
you  take  my  advice,  you  poor-looking  creature,  you'll  pray 
night  and  day  that  you  may  never  see  him,  for  I  tell  you  it 
will  be  a  black  day  for  you  when  you  do.  But,  in  the  mean 
time,  you  perceive  that  the  wind's  on  the  door,  and  as  Fin  him- 
self is  from  home,  maybe  you'd  be  civil  enough  to  turn  the 
house,  for  it's  always  what  Fin  does  when  he's  here." 


FIN  McCOUL.  293 

This  was  a  startler  even  to  Cucullin  ;  but  lie  got  up,  how- 
ever, and  after  pulling  the  middle  finger  of  his  right  hand  until 
it  cracked  three  times,  he  went  outside,  and  getting  his  arms 
about  the  house,  completely  turned  it  as  she  had  wished 
When  Fin  saw  this,  he  felt  a  certain  description  of  moisture, 
which  shall  be  nameless,  oozing  out  through  every  pore  of  his 
skin ;  but  Oonagh,  depending  upon  her  woman's  wit,  felt  not  a 
whit  daunted. 

"  Arrah,  then,"  said  she,  "  as  you  are  so  civil,  maybe  you'd 
do  another  obliging  turn  for  us,  as  Fin's  not  here  to  do  it  him- 
self. You  see,  after  this  long  stretch  of  dry  weather  we've 
had,  we  feel  very  badly  off  for  want  of  water.  Now,  Fin  says 
there's  a  fine  spring  well  somewhere  under  the  rocks  behind 
the  hill  here  below,  and  it  was  his  intention  to  pull  them 
asunder  ;  but  having  heard  of  you,  he  left  the  place  in  such  a 
fury  that  he  never  thought  of  it.  Now,  if  you  try  to  find  it, 
troth  I'd  feel  it  a  kindness." 

She  then  brought  Cucullin  down  to  see  the  place,  whicli 
was  then  all  one  solid  rock  ;  and,  after  looking  at  it  for  some 
time,  he  cracked  his  right  middle  finger  nine  times,  and,  stoop- 
ing down,  tore  a  cleft  about  four  hundred  feet  deep,  and  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  which  has  since  been  christened  by 
the  name  of  Lumford's  Glen.  This  feat  nearly  threw  Oonagh 
herself  off  her  guard  ;  but  what  won't  a  woman's  sagacity  and 
presence  of  mind  accomplish  ? 

"  You'll  now  come  in,"  said  she,  "  and  eat  a  bit  of  such  hum- 
ble fare  as  we  can  give  you.  Fin,  even  although  he  and  you 
are  enemies,  would  scorn  not  to  treat  you  kindly  in  his  own 
house  ;  and,  indeed,  if  I  didn't  do  it  even  in  his  absence,  he 
would  not  be  pleased  with  me." 

She  accordingly  brought,  him  in,  and  placing  half  a  dozen 
of  the  cakes  we  spoke  of  before  him,  together  with  a  can  or 
two  of  butter,  a  side  of  boiled  bacon,  and  a  stack  of  cabbage, 
she  desired  him  to  help  himself  —  for  this,  be  it  known,  was 
long  before  the  invention  of  potatoes.  Cucullin,  who  by  the 
way  was  a  glutton  as  well  as  a  hero,  put  one  of  the  cakes  in 
his  mouth  to  take  a  huge  whack  out  of  it,  when  both  Fin  and 
Oonagh  were  stunned  with  a  noise  that  resembled  something 
between  a  growl  and  a  yell.  "  Blood  and  fury !  "  he  shouted  ; 
"how  is  this?  Here  are  two  of  my  teeth  out  !  What  kind  of 
bread  is  this  you  gave  me  ?  " 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Oonagh,  coolly. 


294  FIN  McCOUL. 

"  Matter  I  "  shouted  the  other  again  ;  "  why,  here  are  the 
two  best  teeth  in  my  head  gone." 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "that's  Fin's  bread  —  the  only  bread  he 
ever  eats  when  at  home  ;  but,  indeed,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that 
nobody  can  eat  it  but  himself,  and  that  child  in  the  cradle  there. 
I  thought,  however,  that,  as  you  were  reported  to  be  rather  a 
stout  little  fellow  of  your  size,  you  might  be  able  to  manage  it, 
and  I  did  not  wish  to  affront  a  man  that  thinks  himself  able  to 
fight  Fin.   Here's  another  cake —  maybe  it's  not  so  hard  as  that." 

Cucullin  at  the  moment  was  not  only  hungry,  but  ravenous, 
so  he  accordingly  made  a  fresh  set  at  the  second  cake,  and 
immediately  another  yell  was  heard  twice  as  loud  as  the  first. 
"  Thunder  and  giblets  !  "  he  roared,  "  take  your  bread  out  of 
this,  or  I  will  not  have  a  tooth  in  my  head  ;  there's  another 
pair  of  them  gone  !  " 

"  Well,  honest  man,"  replied  Oonagh,  "  if  you're  not  able  to 
eat  the  bread,  say  so  quietly,  and  don't  be  wakening  the  child 
in  the  cradle  there.     There,  now,  he's  awake  upon  me." 

Fin  now  gave  a  skirl  that  startled  the  giant,  as  coming  from 
such  a  youngster  as  he  was  represented  to  be.  "  Mother,"  said 
he,  "I'm  hungry  —  get  me  something  to  eat."  Oonagh  went 
over,  and  putting  into  his  hand  a  cake  that  had  no  griddle  in  it. 
Fin,  whose  appetite  in  the  mean  time  was  sharpened  by  what 
he  saw  going  forward,  soon  made  it  disappear.  Cucullin  was 
thunderstruck,  and  secretly  thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  miss  meeting  Fin,  for,  as  he  said  to  himself, 
I'd  have  no  chance  with  a  man  who  could  eat  such  bread  as 
that,  which  even  his  son  that's  but  in  his  cradle  can  munch 
before  my  eyes. 

"  I'd  like  to  take  a  glimpse  at  the  lad  in  the  cradle,"  said  he 
to  Oonagh ;  "  for  I  can  tell  you  that  the  infant  who  can  man- 
age that  nutriment  is  no  joke  to  look  at,  or  to  feed  of  a  scarce 
summer." 

"With  all  the  veins  of  my  heart,"  replied  Oonagh;  "get 
up,  acushla,  and  show  this  decent  little  man  something  that 
won't  be  unworthy  of  your  father.  Fin  M'Coul." 

Fin,  who  was  dressed  for  the  occasion  as  much  like  a  boy 
as  possible,  got  up,  and  bringing  Cucullin  out,  "  Are  you 
strong  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Thunder  and  'ounds  I "  exclaimed  the  other,  "  what  a  voice 
in  so  small  a  chap  !  " 

"  Are  you  strong  ?  "   said   Fin  again  ;    "  are  you  able  to 


F.N  McCOUL.  295 

squeeze  water  out  of  that  white  stone  ?  "  he  asked,  putting  one 
into  Cucullin's  hand.  The  latter  squeezed  and  squeezed  the 
stone,  but  to  no  purpose  ;  he  might  pull  the  rocks  of  Lumford's 
Glen  asunder,  and  flatten  a  thunderbolt,  but  to  squeeze  water 
out  of  a  white  stone  was  beyond  his  strength.  Fin  eyed  him  with 
great  contempt,  as  he  kept  straining  and  squeezing  and  squeez- 
ing and  straining,  till  he  got  black  in  the  face  with  the  efforts. 
"  Ah,  you're  a  poor  creature  !  "  said  Fin.  "  You  a  giant  I 
Give  me  the  stone  here,  and  when  I'll  show  what  Fin's  little 
son  can  do,  you  may  then  judge  of  what  my  daddy  himself  is." 
Fin  then  took  the  stone,  and  slyly  exchanging  it  for  the 
curds,  he  squeezed  the  latter  until  the  whey,  as  clear  as  water, 
oozed  out  in  a  little  shower  from  his  hand. 

"  I'll  now  go  in,"  said  he,  "  to  my  cradle ;  for  I  scorn  to 
lose  my  time  with  any  one  that's  not  able  to  eat  my  daddy's 
bread,  or  squeeze  water  out  of  a  stone.  Bedad,  you  had  better 
be  off  out  of  this  before  he  comes  back  ;  for  if  he  catches  you, 
it's  in  flummery  he'd  have  you  in  two  minutes." 

Cucullin,  seeing  what  he  had  seen,  was  of  the  same  opinion 
himself  ;  his  knees  knocked  together  with  the  terror  of  Fin's 
return,  and  he  accordingly  hastened  in  to  bid  Oonagh  farewell, 
and  to  assure  her,  that  from  that  day  out,  he  never  wished  to 
hear  of,  much  less  to  see,  her  husband.  "  I  admit  fairly  that  I'm 
not  a  match  for  him,"  said  he,  "  strong  as  I  am  ;  tell  him  I  will 
avoid  him  as  I  would  the  plague,  and  that  I  will  make  myself 
scarce  in  this  part  of  the  country  while  I  live." 

Fin,  in  the  mean  time,  had  gone  into  the  cradle,  where  he 
lay  very  quietly,  his  heart  at  his  mouth  with  delight  that  Cu- 
cullin was  about  to  take  his  departure,  without  discovering  the 
tricks  that  had  been  played  off  on  him. 

"  It's  well  for  you,"  said  Oonagh,  "  that  he  doesn't  happen 
to  be  here,  for  it's  nothing  but  hawk's  meat  he'd  make  of  you." 
"  I  know  that,"  says  Cucullin  ;  "  divil  a  thing  else  he'd 
make  of  me  ;  but  before  I  go,  will  you  let  me  feel  what  kind 
of  teeth  they  are  that  can  eat  griddle  bread  like  that?  "—  and 
he  pointed  to  it  as  he  spoke. 

"  With  all  pleasure  in  life,"  said  she  ;  "  only  as  they're  far 
back  in  his  head,  you  must  put  your  finger  a  good  way  in." 

^  Cucullin  was  surprised  to  find  such  a  powerful  set  of 
grinders  in  one  so  young ;  but  he  was  still  much  more  so  on 
finding,  when  he  took  his  hand  from  Fin's  mouth,  that  he  had 
left  the  very  finger  upon  which  his  whole  strength  depended, 


296  TALES   FROM   THE   NORTHERN  MYTHS. 

behind  him.  He  gave  one  loud  groan,  and  fell  down  at  once 
with  terror  and  weakness.  This  was  all  Fin  wanted,  who  now 
knew  that  his  most  powerful  and  bitterest  enemy  was  com- 
pletely at  his  mercy.  He  instantly  started  out  of  the  cradle, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  great  Cucullin,  that  was  for  such  a 
length  of  time  the  terror  of  him  and  all  his  followers,  lay  a 
corpse  before  him.  Thus  did  Fin,  through  the  wit  and  inven- 
tion of  Oonagh,  his  wife,  succeed  in  overcoming  his  enemy  by 
stratagem,  which  he  never  could  have  done  by  force  :  and  thus 
also  is  it  proved  that  the  women,  if  they  bring  us  into  many  an 
unpleasant  scrape,  can  sometimes  succeed  in  getting  us  out  of 
others  that  are  as  bad. 


TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS. 

By  EIRIKR  MAGNUSSON  and  WILLIAM  MORRIS. 

[William  Morris,  English  poet  and  art  reformer,  was  born  March  24, 
1834 ;  educated  at  Oxford,  and  was  one  of  the  Preraphaelites.  His  best-known 
poem  is  "The  Earthly  Paradise";  he  has  also  written  "The  Defense  of 
Guinevere,"  "The  Life  and  Death  of  Jason,"  "Sigurd  the  Volsung,"  "The 
Fall  of  the  Niblungs,"  and  smaller  ones.  In  prose  he  wrote  "The  House  of  the 
Wolfings,"  "The  Glittering  Plain,"  etc.  He  founded  a  manufactory  of  house- 
hold decorations  to  reform  public  taste,  and  a  printing  house  for  artistic  typog- 
raphy.    He  was  also  a  fervent  Socialist.     He  died  October  3,  1896.  ] 

I.   The  Dragon's  Hoard. 

OF  THE  BIRTH   AND   WAXING   OF   SIGURD   FAFNIR'S-BANB. 

Now  Sigurd's  foster-father  was  hight  Regin,  the  son  of 
Hreidmar ;  he  taught  him  all  manner  of  arts,  the  chess  play,  and 
the  lore  of  runes,  and  the  talking  of  many  tongues,  even  as 
the  wont  was  with  kings'  sons  in  those  days.  But  on  a  day 
when  they  were  together  Regin  asked  Sigurd,  if  he  knew  how 
much  wealth  his  father  had  owned,  and  who  had  the  ward 
thereof  ;  Sigurd  answered,  and  said  that  the  kings  kept  the 
ward  thereof. 

Said  Regin,  "  Dost  thou  trust  them  all  utterly  ?  " 
Sigurd  said,  "  It  is  seemly  that  they  keep  it  till  I  may  do 
somewhat  therewith,  for  better  they  wot  how  to  guard  it  than 
I  do." 


TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS.  297 

Another  time  came  Regiu  to  talk  to  Sigurd,  and  said,  — 

"  A  marvelous  thing  truly  that  thou  must  needs  be  a  horse 
boy  to  the  kings,  and  go  about  like  a  running  knave." 

"  Nay,"  said  Sigurd,  "  it  is  not  so,  for  in  all  things  I  have 
my  will,  and  whatso  thing  I  desire  is  granted  me  with  good 
will." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Regin,  "  ask  for  a  horse  of  them." 

"  Yea,"  quoth  Sigurd,  "  and  that  shall  I  have,  whenso  I  have 
need  thereof." 

Thereafter  Sigurd  went  to  the  king,  and  the  king  said,  — 

"  What  wilt  thou  have  of  us  ?  " 

Then  said  Sigurd,  "  I  would  even  a  horse  of  thee  for  my  dis- 
port." 

Then  said  the  king,  "  Choose  for  thyself  a  horse,  and  whatso 
thing  else  thou  desirest  among  my  matters." 

So  the  next  day  went  Sigurd  to  the  wood,  and  met  on  the 
way  an  old  man,  long-bearded,  that  he  knew  not,  who  asked 
him  whither  away. 

Sigurd  said,  "  I  am  minded  to  choose  me  a  horse  ;  come  thou, 
and  counsel  me  thereon." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  go  we  and  drive  them  to  the  river 
which  is  called  Busil-tarn." 

They  did  so,  and  drave  the  horses  down  into  the  deeps  of  the 
river,  and  all  swam  back  to  land  but  one  horse  ;  and  that  horse 
Sigurd  chose  for  himself  ;  gray  he  was  of  hue,  and  young  of 
years,  great  of  growth,  and  fair  to  look  on,  nor  had  any  man 
yet  crossed  his  back. 

Then  spake  the  graybeard,  "  From  Sleipnir's  kin  is  this 
horse  come,  and  he  must  be  nourished  heedfully,  for  it  will  be 
the  best  of  all  horses  ;  "  and  therewithal  he  vanished  away. 

So  Sigurd  called  the  horse  Grani,  the  best  of  all  the  horses 
of  the  world  ;  nor  was  the  man  he  met  other  than  Odin  him- 
self. 

Now  yet  again  spake  Regin  to  Sigurd,  and  said,  — 

"  Not  enough  is  thy  wealth,  and  I  grieve  right  sore  that  thou 
must  needs  run  here  and  there  like  a  churl's  son  ;  but  I  can  tell 
thee  where  there  is  much  wealth  for  the  winning,  and  great 
name  and  honor  to  be  woa  in  the  getting  of  it." 

Sigurd  asked  where  that  might  be,  and  who  had  watch  and 
ward  over  it. 

Regin  answered,  "  Fafnir  is  his  name,  and  but  a  little  way 
hence  he  lies,  on  the  waste  of  Gnita-heath;    and  when  thou 


298  TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN   MYTHS. 

comest  there  thou  mayest  well  say  that  thou  hast  never  seen 
more  gold  heaped  together  in  one  place,  and  that  none  might 
desire  more  treasure,  though  he  were  the  most  ancient  and 
famed  of  all  kings." 

"  Young  am  I,"  says  Sigurd,  "  yet  know  I  the  fashion  of  this 
worm,  and  how  that  none  durst  go  against  him,  so  huge  and 
evil  is  he." 

Regin  said,  "  Nay,  it  is  not  so,  the  fashion  and  the  growth  of 
him  is  even  as  of  other  lingworms  [dragons],  and  an  overgreat 
tale  men  make  of  it  ;  and  even  so  would  thy  forefathers  have 
deemed  ;  but  thou,  though  thou  be  of  the  kin  of  tlie  Volsungs, 
shalt  scarce  have  the  heart  and  mind  of  those,  who  are  told  of 
as  the  first  in  all  deeds  of  fame." 

Sigurd  said,  "Yea,  belike  I  have  little  of  their  hardihood 
and  prowess,  but  thou  hast  naught  to  do,  to  lay  a  coward's 
name  upon  me,  when  I  am  scarce  out  of  my  childish  years. 
Why  dost  thou  egg  me  on  hereto  so  busily  ?  " 

Regin  said,  "  Therein  lies  a  tale  which  I  must  needs  tell 
thee." 

"  Let  me  hear  the  same,"  said  Sigurd. 

regin's  tale  of  his  brothers,  and  of  the  gold  called 

ANDVARl'S   HOARD. 

"Thus  the  tale  begins,"  said  Regin.  "  Hreidmar  was  my 
father's  name,  a  mighty  man  and  a  wealthy  ;  and  his  first  son 
was  named  Fafnir,  his  second  Otter,  and  I  was  the  third,  and 
the  least  of  them  all  both  for  prowess  and  good  conditions ;  but 
I  was  cunning  to  work  in  iron,  and  silver,  and  gold,  whereof  I 
could  make  matters  that  availed  somewhat.  Other  skill  my 
brother  Otter  followed,  and  had  another  nature  withal,  for  he 
was  a  great  fisher,  and  above  other  men  herein  ;  in  that  he  had 
the  likeness  of  an  otter  by  day,  and  dwelt  ever  in  the  river,  and 
bare  fish  to  bank  in  his  mouth,  and  his  prey  would  he  ever 
bring  to  our  father,  and  that  availed  him  much ;  for  the  most 
part  he  kept  him  in  his  otter  gear,  and  then  he  would  come 
home,  and  eat  alone,  and  slumbering,  for  on  the  dry  land  he 
might  see  naught.  But  Fafnir  was  by  far  the  greatest  and 
grimmest,  and  would  have  all  things  about  called  his. 

"  Now,"  says  Regin,  "  there  was  a  dwarf  called  Andvari,  who 
ever  abode  in  that  force  [waterfall]  which  was  called  Andvari's 
force,  in  the  likeness  of  a  pike,  and  got  meat  for  himself,  for 


TALES   FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS.  299 

many  fish  there  were  in  the  force ;  now  Otter,  my  brother,  was 
ever  wont  to  enter  into  the  force,  and  bring  fish  aland,  and  lay 
them  one  by  one  on  the  bank.  And  so  it  befell  that  Odin, 
Loki,  and  Hoenir,  as  they  went  their  ways,  came  to  Andvari's 
force,  and  Otter  had  taken  a  salmon,  and  ate  it  slumbering 
upon  the  river  bank;  then  Loki  took  a  stone  and  cast  it  at 
Otter,  so  that  he  gat  his  death  thereby ;  the  gods  were  well 
content  with  their  prey,  and  fell  to  flaying  off  the  otter's 
skin ;  and  in  the  evening  they  came  to  Hreidmar's  house,  and 
showed  him  what  they  had  taken ;  thereon  he  laid  hands  on 
them,  and  doomed  them  to  such  ransom,  as  that  they  should 
fill  the  otter  skin  with  gold,  and  cover  it  over  without  with  red 
gold  ;  so  they  sent  Loki  to  gather  gold  together  for  them ;  he 
came  to  Ran  [the  goddess  of  the  sea]  and  got  her  net,  and  went 
therewith  to  Andvari's  force,  and  cast  the  net  before  the  pike,  and 
the  pike  ran  into  the  net  and  was  taken.     Then  said  Loki  — 

"  '  What  fish  of  all  fishes 

Swims  strong  in  the  flood, 
But  hath  learnt  little  wit  to  beware  ? 

Thine  head  must  thou  buy 

From  abiding  in  hell, 
And  find  me  the  wan  waters  flame.* 

He  answered  — 

"  *  Andvari  folk  call  me, 

Call  Oinn  my  father, 
Over  many  a  force  have  I  fared; 

For  a  Norn  of  ill-luck, 

This  life  on  me  lay 
Through  wet  days  ever  to  wade.' 

"  So  Loki  beheld  the  gold  of  Andvari,  and  when  he  had 
given  up  the  gold,  he  had  but  one  ring  left,  and  that  also  Loki 
took  from  him ;  then  the  dwarf  went  into  a  hollow  of  the  rocks, 
and  cried  out,  that  that  gold  ring,  yea,  and  all  the  gold  withal, 
should  be  the  bane  of  every  man  who  should  own  it  thereafter. 

"  Now  the  gods  rode  with  the  treasure  to  Hreidmar,  and 
fulfilled  the  otter  skin,  and  set  it  on  its  feet,  and  they  must 
cover  it  over  utterly  with  gold ;  but  when  this  was  done  then 
Hreidmar  came  forth,  and  beheld  yet  one  of  the  muzzle  hairs, 
and  bade  them  cover  that  withal ;  then  Odin  drew  the  ring, 
Andvari's  heirloom,  from  his  hand,  and  covered  up  the  hair 
therewith,  then  sang  Loki,  — 


800  TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS. 

" '  Grold  enow,  gold  enow, 

A  great  weregild,  thou  hast, 
That  my  head  in  good  hap  I  may  hold ; 

But  thou  and  thy  son 

Are  naught  fated  to  thrive, 
The  bane  shall  it  be  of  you  both.' 

"  Thereafter,"  says  Regin,  "  Faf nir  slew  his  father  and  mur- 
dered him,  nor  got  I  aught  of  the  treasure,  and  so  evil  he  grew, 
that  he  fell  to  lying  abroad,  and  begrudged  any  share  in  the 
wealth  to  any  man,  and  so  became  the  worst  of  all  worms  [ser- 
pents], and  ever  now  lies  brooding  upon  that  treasure;  but  for 
me,  I  went  to  the  king  and  became  his  master  smith ;  and  thus 
is  the  tale  told  of  how  I  lost  the  heritage  of  my  father,  and  the 
weregild  for  my  brother." 

So  spake  Regin  ;  but  since  that  time  gold  is  called  Ottergild, 
and  for  no  other  cause  than  this. 

But  Sigurd  answered,  "  Much  hast  thou  lost,  and  exceeding 
evil  have  thy  kinsmen  been  !  but  now,  make  a  sword  by  thy 
craft,  such  a  sword  as  that  none  can  be  made  like  unto  it ;  so 
that  I  may  do  great  deeds  therewith,  if  my  heart  avail  thereto, 
and  thou  wouldst  have  me  slay  this  mighty  dragon." 

Regin  says,  "  Trust  me  well  herein  ;  and  with  that  same 
sword  shalt  thou  slay  Faf  nir." 

OP  THE  WELDING  TOGETHER  OF  THE  SHARDS  OF  THE 
SWORD  GRAM. 

So  Regin  makes  a  sword,  and  gives  it  into  Sigurd's  hands. 
He  took  the  sword,  and  said,  — 

"  Behold  thy  smithying,  Regin  !  "  and  therewith  smote  it 
into  the  anvil,  and  the  sword  brake  ;  so  he  cast  down  the  brand, 
and  bade  him  forge  a  better. 

Then  Regin  forged  another  sword,  and  brought  it  to  Sigurd, 
who  looked  thereon. 

Then  said  Regin,  "  Belike  thou  art  well  content  therewith, 
hard  master  though  thou  be  in  smithying." 

So  Sigurd  proved  the  sword,  and  brake  it  even  as  the  first  ; 
then  he  said  to  Regin,  — 

"  Ah,  art  thou,  mayhappen,  a  traitor  and  a  liar  like  to  those 
former  kin  of  thine  ?  " 

Therewith  he  went  to  his  mother,  and  she  welcomed  him  in 
seemly  wise,  and  they  talked  and  drank  together. 


TALES  FROM  THE   NORTHERN  MYTHS.  801 

Then  spake  Sigurd,  "  Have  I  heard  aright,  that  King  Sig- 
mund  gave  thee  the  good  sword  Gram  in  two  pieces  ?  " 

"  True  enough,"  she  said. 

So  Sigurd  said,  "  Deliver  them  into  my  hands,  for  I  would 
have  them." 

She  said  he  looked  like  to  win  great  fame,  and  gave  him 
the  sword.  Therewith  went  Sigurd  to  Regin,  and  bade  him 
make  a  good  sword  thereof  as  he  best  might ;  Regin  grew 
wroth  thereat,  but  went  into  the  smithy  with  the  pieces  of  the 
sword,  thinking  well  meanwhile  that  Sigurd  pushed  his  head  far 
enow  into  the  matter  of  smithying.  So  he  made  a  sword,  and  as 
he  bore  it  forth  from  the  forge,  it  seemed  to  the  smiths  as  though 
fire  burned  along  the  edges  thereof.  Now  he  bade  Sigurd  take 
the  sword,  and  said  he  knew  not  how  to  make  a  sword  if  this  one 
failed.  Then  Sigurd  smote  it  into  the  anvil,  and  cleft  it  down 
to  the  stock  thereof,  and  neither  burst  the  sword  nor  brake  it. 
Then  he  praised  the  sword  much,  and  thereafter  went  to  the 
river  with  a  lock  of  wool,  and  threw  it  up  against  the  stream, 
and  it  fell  asunder  when  it  met  the  sword.  Then  was  Sigurd 
glad,  and  went  home. 

But  Regin  said,  "  Now  whereas  I  have  made  the  sword  for 
thee,  belike  thou  wilt  hold  to  thy  troth  given,  and  wilt  go  meet 
Fafnir?" 

"  Surely  will  I  hold  thereto,"  said  Sigurd ;  "  yet  first  must  I 
avenge  my  father." 

OP  THE  SLAYING  OF  THE  WORM  FAFNIR. 

Now  Sigurd  and  Regin  ride  up  the  heath  along  that  same 
way  wherein  Fafnir  was  wont  to  creep  when  he  fared  to  the 
water ;  and  folk  say  that  thirty  fathoms  was  the  height  of  that 
cliff  along  which  he  lay  when  he  drank  of  the  water  below. 
Then  Sigurd  spake,  — 

"  How  sayedst  thou,  Regin,  that  this  drake  [dragon]  was 
no  greater  than  other  ling  worms ;  me  thinks  the  track  of  him 
is  marvelous  great  ?  " 

Then  said  Regin,  "  Make  thee  a  hole,  and  sit  down  therein, 
and  whenas  the  worm  comes  to  the  water,  smite  him  into  the 
heart,  and  so  do  him  to  death,  and  win  for  thee  great  fame 
thereby." 

But  Sigurd  said,  "  What  will  betide  me  if  I  be  before  the 
blood  of  the  worm  ?  " 


302  TALES   FROM   THE    NORTHERN    MYTHS. 

Says  Regin,  "  Of  what  avail  to  counsel  thee  if  thou  art  still 
afeard  of  everything  ?  Little  art  thou  like  thy  kin  in  stoutness 
of  heart." 

Then  Sigurd  rides  right  over  the  heath;  but  Regin  gets  him 
gone,  sore  afeard. 

But  Sigurd  fell  to  digging  him  a  pit,  and  whiles  he  was  at 
that  work,  there  came  to  him  an  old  man  with  a  long  beard, 
and  asked  what  he  wrought  there,  and  he  told  him. 

Then  answered  the  old  man  and  said,  "  Thou  doest  after 
sorry  counsel:  rather  dig  thee  many  pits,  and  let  the  blood  run 
therein;  but  sit  thee  down  in  one  thereof,  and  so  thrust  the 
worm's  heart  through." 

And  therewithal  he  vanished  away;  but  Sigurd  made  the 
pits  even  as  it  was  shown  to  him. 

Now  crept  the  worm  down  to  his  place  of  watering,  and 
the  earth  shook  all  about  him,  and  he  snorted  forth  venom  on 
all  the  way  before  him  as  he  went;  but  Sigurd  neither  trembled 
nor  was  adrad  at  the  roaring  of  him.  So  whenas  the  worm 
crept  over  the  pits,  Sigurd  thrust  his  sword  under  his  left 
shoulder,  so  that  it  sank  in  up  to  the  hilts;  then  up  leapt 
Sigurd  from  the  pit  and  drew  the  sword  back  again  unto  him, 
and  therewith  was  his  arm  all  bloody,  up  to  the  very  shoul- 
der. 

Now  when  that  mighty  worm  was  ware  that  he  had  his 
death  wound,  then  he  lashed  out  head  and  tail,  so  that  all 
things  soever  that  were  before  him  were  broken  to  pieces. 

So  whenas  Fafnir  had  his  death  wound,  he  asked,  "  Who  art 
thou  ?  and  who  is  thy  father  ?  and  what  thy  kin,  that  thou  wert 
so  hardy  as  to  bear  weapons  against  me  ?  " 

Sigurd  answered,  "  Unknown  to  men  is  my  kin.  [Sigurd 
refusing  to  tell  his  name  is  to  be  referred  to  the  superstition 
that  a  dying  man  could  throw  a  curse  on  his  enemy.]  I  am 
called  a  noble  beast:  neither  father  have  I  nor  mother,  and  all 
alone  have  I  fared  hither." 

Said  Fafnir,  "  Whereas  thou  hast  neither  father  nor  mother, 
of  what  wonder  wert  thou  born  then  ?  But  now,  though  thou 
tellest  me  not  thy  name  on  this  my  death  day,  yet  thou  know- 
est  verily  that  thou  liest  unto  me." 

He  answered,  "  Sigurd  am  I  called,  and  my  father  was 
Sigmund." 

Says  Fafnir,  "  Who  egged  thee  on  to  this  deed,  and  why 
wouldst  thou  be  driven  to  it?     Hadst  thou  never  heard  how 


TALES   FROM   THE   NORTHERN   jVOTTHS.  303 

that  all  folk  were  adrad  of  me,  and  of  the  awe  of  my  counte- 
nance ?  But  an  eager  father  thou  hadst,  O  bright-eyed  swain! " 
Sigurd  answered,  "A  hardy  heart  urged  me  on  hereto;  and 
a  strong  hand  and  this  sharp  sword,  which  well  thou  knowest 
now,  stood  me  in  stead  in  the  doing  of  the  deed;  Seldom  hath 
hardy  eld  a  faint-heart  youth.'''' 

Faf  nir  said,  "  Well,  I  wot  that  hadst  thou  waxed  amid  thy 
kin,  thou  mightest  have  good  skill  to  slay  folk  in  thine  anger; 
but  more  of  a  marvel  is  it,  that  thou,  a  bondsman  taken  in  war, 
shouldst  have  the  heart  to  set  on  me,  for  few  among  bondsmen 
have  heart  for  the  fight. ''^ 

Said  Sigurd,  "  Wilt  thou  then  cast  it  in  my  teeth  that  I 
am  far  away  from  my  kin?  Albeit  I  was  a  bondsman,  yet 
was  I  never  shackled.  God  wot  thou  hast  found  me  free 
enow." 

Faf  nir  answered,  "  In  angry  wise  dost  thou  take  my  speech; 
but  hearken,  for  that  same  gold  which  I  have  owned  shall  be 
thy  bane  too." 

Quoth  Sigurd,  "  Fain  would  we  keep  all  our  wealth  till  that 
day  of  days;  yet  shall  each  man  die  once  for  all." 

Said  Faf  nir,  "Few  things  wilt  thou  do  after  my  counsel; 
but  take  heed  that  thoa  shalt  be  drowned  if  thou  farest  un- 
warily over  the  sea;  so  bide  thou  rather  on  the  dry  land,  for 
the  coming  of  the  calm  tide." 

And  yet  again  he  said,  "  Regin,  my  brother,  has  brought 
about  my  end,  and  it  gladdens  my  heart  that  thine  too  he 
bringeth  about;  for  thus  will  things  be  according  to  his 
will." 

And  once  again  he  spake,  "A  countenance  of  terror  I  bore  up 
before  all  folk,  after  that  I  brooded  over  the  heritage  of  my 
brother,  and  on  every  side  did  I  spout  out  poison,  so  that  none 
durst  come  anigh  me,  and  of  no  weapon  was  I  adrad,  nor  ever 
had  I  so  many  men  before  me,  as  that  I  deemed  myself  not 
stronger  than  all;  for  all  men  were  sore  afeard  of  me." 

Sigurd  answered  and  said,  "  Few  may  have  victory  by  means 
of  that  same  countenance  of  terror,  for  whoso  comes  amongst 
many  shall  one  day  find  that  no  one  man  is  by  so  far  the 
mightiest  of  all." 

Then  says  Faf  nir,  "  Such  counsel  I  give  thee,  that  thou  take 
thy  horse  and  ride  away  at  thy  speediest,  for  ofttimes  it  falls 
out  so,  that  he  who  gets  a  death  wound  avenges  himself  none 
the  less." 


304  TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS. 

Sigurd  answered,  "  Such  as  thy  redes  are  I  -will  nowise  do 
after  them;  nay,  I  will  ride  now  to  thy  lair  and  take  to  me  that 
great  treasure  of  tliy  kin." 

"  Ride  there  then,"  said  Faf nir,  "  and  thou  shalt  find  gold 
enow  to  suffice  thee  for  all  thy  life  days ;  yet  shall  that  gold 
be  thy  bane,  and  the  bane  of  every  one  soever  who  owns  it." 

Then  up  stood  Sigurd,  and  said,  "  Home  would  I  ride  and 
lose  all  that  wealth,  if  I  deemed  that  by  the  losing  thereof  I 
should  never  die;  but  every  brave  and  true  man  will  fain  have 
his  hand  on  wealth  till  that  last  day:  but  thou,  Faf  nir,  wallow 
in  the  death  pain  till  Death  and  Hell  have  thee." 

And  therewithal  Fafnir  died. 

OF  THE   SLAYING   OF   REGIN,   SON   OF   HREIDMAR. 

Thereafter  came  Regin  to  Sigurd,  and  said,  "  Hail,  lord  and 
master,  a  noble  victory  hast  thou  won  in  the  slaying  of  Fafnir, 
whereas  none  durst  heretofore  abide  in  the  path  of  him;  and 
now  shall  this  deed  of  fame  be  of  renown  while  the  world 
stands  fast." 

Then  stood  Regin  staring  on  the  earth  a  long  while,  and  pres- 
ently thereafter  spake  from  heavy  mood,  "  Mine  own  brother 
hast  thou  slain,  and  scarce  may  I  be  called  sackless  of  the  deed." 

Then  Sigurd  took  his  sword  Gram  and  dried  it  on  the  earth, 
and  spake  to  Regin,  — 

"Afar  thou  faredst  when  I  wrought  this  deed  and  tried  this 
sharp  sword  with  the  hand  and  the  might  of  me;  with  all  the 
might  and  main  of  a  dragon  must  I  strive,  while  thou  wert  laid 
alow  in  the  heather  bush,  wotting  not  if  it  were  earth  or  heaven." 

Said  Regin,  "  Long  might  this  worm  have  lain  in  his  lair,  if 
the  sharp  sword  I  forged  with  my  hand  had  not  been  good  at 
need  to  thee;  had  that  not  been,  neither  thou  nor  any  man 
would  have  prevailed  against  him  as  at  this  time." 

Sigurd  answers,  "  Whenas  men  meet  foes  in  fight,  better  is 
stout  heart  than  sharp  sword." 

Then  said  Regin,  exceeding  heavily,  "  Thou  hast  slain  my 
brother,  and  scarce  may  I  be  sackless  of  the  deed." 

Therewith  Sigurd  cut  out  the  heart  of  the  worm  with  the 
sword  called  Ridil;  but  Regin  drank  of  Fafnir's  blood,  and 
spake:  "  Grant  me  a  boon,  and  do  a  thing  little  for  thee  to  do. 
Bear  the  heart  to  the  fire,  and  roast  it,  and  give  me  thereof 
to  eat." 


TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS.  305 

Then  Sigurd  went  his  ways  and  roasted  it  on  a  rod;  and 
when  the  blood  bubbled  out  he  laid  his  finger  thereon  to  essay- 
it,  if  it  were  fully  done ;  and  then  he  set  his  finger  in  his  mouth, 
and  lo,  when  the  heart  blood  of  the  worm  touched  his  tongue, 
straightway  he  knew  the  voice  of  all  fowls,  and  heard  withal 
how  the  woodpeckers  chattered  in  the  brake  beside  him,  — 

"  There  sittest  thou,  Sigurd,  roasting  Faf nir's  heart  for  an- 
other, that  thou  shouldest  eat  thine  own  self,  and  then  thou 
shouldest  become  the  wisest  of  all  men." 

And  another  spake,  "  There  lies  Regin,  minded  to  beguile 
the  man  who  trusts  in  him." 

But  yet  again  said  the  third,  "  Let  him  smite  the  head  from 
off  him  then,  and  be  only  lord  of  all  that  gold." 

And  once  more  the  fourth  spake  and  said,  "Ah,  the  wiser 
were  he  if  he  followed  after  that  good  counsel,  and  rode  there- 
after to  Fafnir's  lair,  and  took  to  him  that  mighty  treasure  that 
lieth  there,  and  then  rode  over  Hindfell,  whereas  sleeps  Bryn- 
hild;  for  there  would  he  get  great  wisdom.  Ah,  wise  he  were, 
if  he  did  after  your  redes,  and  bethought  him  of  his  own  weal; 
for  where  wolf's  ears  are^  wolfs  teeth  are  near''' 

Then  cried  the  fifth,  "  Yea,  yea,  not  so  wise  is  he  as  I  deem 
him,  if  he  spareth  him,  whose  brother  he  hath  slain  already." 

At  last  spake  the  sixth,  "Handy  and  good  rede  to  slay 
him,  and  be  lord  of  the  treasure  !  " 

Then  said  Sigurd,  "The  time  is  unborn  wherein  Regin 
shall  be  my  bane ;  nay,  rather  one  road  shall  both  these 
brothers  fare." 

And  therewith  he  drew  his  sword  Gram  and  struck  off 
Regin's  head. 

Then  Sigurd  ate  some  deal  of  Fafnir's  heart,  and  the  rem- 
nant he  kept.  Then  he  leapt  on  his  horse  and  rode  along  the 
trail  of  the  worm  Fafnir,  and  so  right  unto  his  abiding  place  ; 
and  he  found  it  open,  and  beheld  all  the  doors  and  the  gear  of 
them  that  they  were  wrought  of  iron  :  yea,  and  all  the  beams 
of  the  house  ;  and  it  was  dug  down  deep  into  the  earth  :  there 
found  Sigurd  gold  exceeding  plenteous,  and  the  sword  Rotti ; 
and  thence  he  took  the  Helm  of  Awe,  and  the  Gold  Byrny,  and 
many  things  fair  and  good.  So  much  gold  he  found  there,  that 
he  thought  verily  that  scarce  might  two  horses,  or  three  belike, 
bear  it  thence.  So  he  took  all  the  gold  and  laid  it  in  two  great 
chests,  and  set  them  on  the  horse  Grani,  and  took  the  reins  of 
him,  but  nowise  will  he  stir,   neither  will  he  abide  smiting. 


806  TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS. 

Then  Sigurd  knows  the  mind  of  the  horse,  and  leaps  on  the 
back  of  him,  and  smites  and  spurs  into  him,  and  off  the  horse 
goes  even  as  if  he  were  unladen. 


II.   TwE  Slaughter  of  the  Giuking8. 

ATLI  BIDS   THE   GIUKINGS   TO   HIM. 

Now  tells  the  tale  that  on  a  night  King  Atli  woke  from 
sleep  and  spake  to  Gudrun.  "  Medreamed,"  said  he,  "  that  thou 
didst  thrust  me  through  with  a  sword." 

Then  Gudrun  areded  the  dream,  and  said  that  it  betokened 
fire,  whenas  folk  dreamed  of  iron.  "  It  befalls  of  thy  pride 
belike,  in  that  thou  deemest  thyself  the  first  of  men." 

Atli  said,  "  Moreover  I  dreamed  that  here  waxed  two  sorb- 
tree  saplings,  and  fain  I  was  that  they  should  have  no  scathe 
of  me  ;  then  these  were  riven  up  by  the  roots  and  reddened 
with  blood,  and  borne  to  the  bench,  and  1  was  bidden  eat 
thereof. 

"  Yea,  yet  again  I  dreamed  that  two  hawks  flew  from  my 
hand  hungry  and  unfed,  and  fared  to  hell,  and  meseemed  their 
hearts  were  mingled  with  honey,  and  that  I  ate  thereof. 

"  And  then  again  I  dreamed  that  two  fair  whelps  lay  before 
me  yelling  aloud,  and  that  the  flesh  of  them  I  ate,  though  my 
will  went  not  with  the  eating." 

Gudrun  says,  "  Nowise  good  are  these  dreams,  yet  shall  they 
come  to  pass  ;  surely  thy  sons  are  nigh  to  death,  and  many 
heavy  things  shall  fall  upon  us." 

"  Yet  again  I  dreamed,"  said  he,  "  and  methought  I  lay  in  a 
bath,  and  folk  took  counsel  to  slay  me." 

Now  these  things  wear  away  with  time,  but  in  nowise  was 
their  life  together  fond. 

Now  falls  Atli  to  thinking  of  where  may  be  gotten  that 
plenteous  gold  which  Sigurd  had  owned,  but  King  Gunnar  and 
his  brethren  were  lords  thereof  now. 

Atli  was  a  great  king  and  mighty,  wise,  and  a  lord  of  many 
men  ;  and  now  he  falls  to  counsel  with  his  folk  as  to  the  ways 
of  them.  He  wotted  well  that  Gunnar  and  his  brethren  had 
more  wealth  than  any  others  might  have  ;  and  so  he  falls  to 
the  rede  of  sending  men  to  them,  and  bidding  them  to  a  great 
feast,  and  honoring  them  in  diverse  wise,  and  the  chief  of  those 
messengers  was  hight  Vingi. 


TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS.  307 

Now  the  queen  wots  of  their  conspiring,  and  misdoubts  her 
that  this  would  mean  some  beguiling  of  her  brethren ;  so  she 
cuts  runes,  and  took  a  gold  ring  and  knit  therein  a  wolf's  hair, 
and  gave  it  into  the  hands  of  the  king's  messengers. 

Thereafter  they  go  their  ways  according  to  the  king's  bid- 
ding ;  and  or  ever  they  came  aland  Vingi  beheld  the  runes,  and 
turned  them  about  in  such  a  wise  as  if  Gudrun  prayed  her 
brethren  in  her  runes  to  go  meet  King  Atli. 

Thereafter  they  came  to  the  hall  of  King  Gunnar,  and  had 
good  welcome  at  his  hands,  and  great  fires  were  made  for  them, 
and  in  great  joyance  they  drank  of  the  best  of  drink. 

Then  spake  Vingi,  «  King  Atli  sends  me  hither,  and  is  fain 
that  ye  go  to  his  house  and  home  in  all  glory,  and  take  of  him 
exceeding  honors,  helms  and  shields,  swords  and  byrnies,  gold 
and  goodly  raiment,  horses,  hosts  of  war,  and  great  and  wide 
lands,  for,  saith  he,  he  is  fainest  of  all  things  to  bestow  his 
realm  and  lordship  upon  you." 

Then  Gunnar  turned  his  head  aside,  and  spoke  to  Hogni, 

"In  what  wise  shall  we  take  this  bidding?  Might  and 
wealth  he  bids  us  take;  but  no  kings  know  I  who  have  so 
much  gold  as  we  have,  whereas  we  have  all  the  hoard  which 
lay  once  on  Gnitaheath ;  and  great  are  our  chambers,  and  full 
of  gold  and  weapons  for  smiting  and  all  kinds  of  raiment 
of  war,  and  well  I  wot  that  amidst  all  men  my  horse  is  the 
best,  and  my  sword  the  sharpest,  and  my  gold  the  most 
glorious." 

Hogni  answers,  "  A  marvel  is  it  to  me  of  his  bidding,  for 
seldom  hath  he  done  in  such  a  wise,  and  ill  counseled  will  it 
be  to  wend  to  him  ;  lo  now,  when  I  saw  those  dear-bought 
things  the  king  sends  us,  I  wondered  to  behold  a  wolf's  hair 
knit  to  a  certain  gold  ring ;  belike  Gudrun  deems  him  to  be 
minded  as  a  wolf  towards  us,  and  will  have  naught  of  our 
faring." 

But  withal  Vingi  shows  him  the  runes  which  he  said  Gudrun 
had  sent. 

Now  the  most  of  folk  go  to  bed,  but  these  di-ank  on  still 
with  certain  others;  and  Kostbera,  the  wife  of  Hogni,  the 
fairest  of  women,  came  to  them,  and  looked  on  the  runes. 

But  the  wife  of  Gunnar  was  Glaum vor,  a  great-hearted 
wife. 

So  these  twain  poured  out,  and  the  kings  drank,  and  were 
exceeding  drunken,  and  Vingi  notes  it,  and  says, — 


308  TALES  FROM  THE  NORTHERN   MYTHS. 

"  Naught  may  I  hide  that  King  Atli  is  heavy  of  foot  and 
over  old  for  the  warding  of  his  realm ;  but  his  sons  are  young 
and  of  no  account ;  now  will  he  give  you  rule  over  his  realms 
while  they  are  yet  thus  young,  and  most  fain  will  he  be  that  ye 
have  the  joy  thereof  before  all  others." 

Now  so  it  befell  both  that  Gunnar  was  drunk,  and  that  great 
dominion  was  held  out  to  him,  nor  might  he  work  against  the 
fate  sharpen  for  him  ;  so  he  gave  his  word  to  go,  and  tells 
Hogni  his  brother  thereof. 

But  he  answered,  "  Thy  word  given  must  even  stand  now, 
nor  will  I  fail  to  follow  thee,  but  most  loth  am  I  to  this  jour- 
ney." 


OP  THE  JOURNEY   OF   THE   GIUKINGS   TO   KING   ATLI. 

Now  tells  the  tale  of  Gunnar,  that  in  the  same  wise  it 
fared  with  him  ;  for  when  they  awoke,  Glaumvor  his  wife  told 
him  many  dreams  which  seemed  to  her  like  to  betoken  guile 
coming ;  but  Gunnar  areded  [counseled]  them  all  in  other 
wise. 

"  This  was  one  of  them,"  said  she ;  "  methought  a  bloody 
sword  was  borne  into  the  hall  here,  wherewith  thou  wert 
thrust  through,  and  at  either  end  of  that  sword  wolves 
howled." 

The  king  answered,  "  Cur  dogs  shall  bite  me  belike ;  blood- 
stained weapons  oft  betoken  dogs'  snappings." 

She  said,  "  Yet  again  I  dreamed  —  that  women  came  in, 
heavy  and  drooping,  and  chose  thee  for  their  mate  ;  mayhappen 
these  would  be  thy  fateful  women." 

He  answered.  "  Hard  to  arede  is  this,  and  none  may  set  aside 
the  fated  measure  of  his  days,  nor  is  it  unlike  that  my  time  is 
short." 

So  in  the  morning  they  arose,  and  were  minded  for  the 
journey,  but  some  letted  them  herein. 

Then  cried  Gunnar  to  the  man  who  is  called  Fjornir,  — 

"  Arise,  and  give  us  to  drink  goodly  wine  from  great  tuns, 
because  mayhappen  this  shall  be  very  last  of  all  our  feasts ;  for 
belike  if  we  die  the  old  wolf  shall  come  by  the  gold,  and  that 
bear  shall  nowise  spare  the  bite  of  his  war  tusks." 

Then  all  the  folk  of  his  household  brought  them  on  their 
way  weeping. 


TALES   FROM   THE  NORTHERN  MYTHS.  309 

The  son  of  Hogni  said,  — 

"  Fare  ye  well  with  merry  tide." 

The  more  part  of  their  folk  were  left  behind ;  Solar  and 
Gnoevar,  the  sons  of  Hogni,  fared  with  them,  and  a  certain  great 
champion,  named  Orkning,  who  was  the  brother  of  Kostbera. 

So  folk  followed  them  down  to  the  ships,  and  all  letted  them 
of  their  journey,  but  attained  to  naught  therein. 

Then  spake  Glaumvor,  and  said,  — 

"  O  Vingi,  most  like  that  great  ill  hap  will  come  of  thy  com- 
ing, and  mighty  and  evil  things  shall  betide  in  thy  traveling." 

He  answered,  "  Hearken  to  my  answer ;  that  I  lie  not  aught ; 
and  may  the  high  gallows  and  all  things  of  grame  have  me,  if 
I  lie  one  word  !  " 

Then  cried  Kostbera,  "Fare  ye  well  with  merry  days." 

And  Hogni  answered,  "  Be  glad  of  heart,  howsoever  it  may 
fare  with  us  !  " 

And  therewith  they  parted,  each  to  their  own  fate.  Then 
away  they  rowed,  so  hard  and  fast  that  well  nigh  the  half  of 
the  keel  slipped  away  from  the  ship,  and  so  hard  they  laid  on  to 
the  oars  that  thole  and  gunwale  brake. 

But  when  they  came  aland  they  made  their  ship  fast,  and 
then  they  rode  awhile  on  their  noble  steeds  through  the  murk 
wildwood. 

And  now  they  behold  the  king's  army,  and  huge  uproar, 
and  the  clatter  of  weapons  they  hear  from  thence ;  and  they 
see  there  a  mighty  host  of  men,  and  the  manifold  array  of  them, 
even  as  they  wrought  there ;  and  all  the  gates  of  the  burg  were 
full  of  men. 

So  they  rode  up  to  the  burg,  and  the  gates  thereof  were 
shut;  then  Hogni  brake  open  the  gates,  and  therewith  they 
ride  into  the  burg. 

Then  spake  Vingi,  "Well  might  ye  have  left  this  deed 
undone ;  go  to  now,  bide  ye  here  while  I  go  seek  your  gallows 
tree  !  Softly  and  sweetly  I  bade  you  hither,  but  an  evil  thing 
abode  thereunder ;  short  while  to  bide  ere  ye  are  tied  up  to  that 
same  tree !  " 

Hogni  answered,  "None  the  more  shall  we  waver  for  that 
cause ;  for  little  methinks  have  we  shrunk  aback  whenas  men 
fell  to  fight ;  and  naught  shall  it  avail  thee  to  make  us  afeard, 
—  and  for  an  ill  fate  hast  thou  wrought." 

And  therewith  they  cast  him  down  to  earth,  and  smote  him 
with  their  ax  hammers  till  he  died. 


310  TALES   FROM  THE   NORTHERN   MYTHS. 


THE  BATTLE  IN   THE   BUKQ   OF   KING    ATU. 

Then  they  rode  unto  the  king's  hall,  and  King  Atli  arrayed 
his  host  for  battle,  and  the  ranks  were  so  set  forth  that  a  cer- 
tain wall  there  was  betwixt  them  and  the  brethren. 

"  Welcome  hither,"  said  he.  "  Deliver  unto  me  that  plente- 
ous gold  which  is  mine  of  right ;  even  the  wealth  which  Sigurd 
once  owned,  and  which  is  now  Gudrun's  of  right." 

Gunnar  answered,  "  Never  gettest  thou  that  wealth  ;  and 
men  of  might  must  thou  meet  here,  or  ever  we  lay  by  life  if 
thou  wilt  deal  with  us  in  battle  :  ah,  belike  thou  settest  forth 
this  feast  like  a  great  man,  and  wouldst  not  hold  thine  hand 
from  erne  and  wolf  !  " 

"  Long  ago  I  had  it  in  my  mind,"  said  Atli,  "  to  take  the 
lives  of  you,  and  be  lord  of  the  gold,  and  reward  you  for  tliat 
deed  of  shame,  wherein  ye  beguiled  the  best  of  all  your  affinity  ; 
but  now  shall  I  revenge  him." 

Hogni  answered,  "  Little  will  it  avail  to  lie  long  brooding 
over  that  rede,  leaving  the  work  undone." 

And  therewith  they  fell  to  hard  fighting,  at  the  first  brunt 
with  shot. 

But  therewithal  came  the  tidings  to  Gudrun,  and  when  she 
heard  thereof  she  grew  exceeding  wroth,  and  cast  her  mantle 
from  her,  and  ran  out  and  greeted  those  newcomers,  and  kissed 
her  brethren,  and  showed  them  all  love  —  and  the  last  of  all 
greetings  was  that  betwixt  them. 

Then  said  she,  "  I  thought  I  had  set  forth  counsels  whereby 
ye  should  not  come  hither,  but  none  may  deal  with  his  shapen 
fate." 

And  withal  she  said,  "Will  it  avail  aught  to  seek  for 
peace  ?  " 

But  stoutly  and  grimly  they  said  nay  thereto.  So  she  sees 
that  the  game  goeth  sorely  against  her  brethren,  and  she 
gathers  to  her  great  stoutness  of  heart,  and  does  on  her  a  mail 
coat  and  takes  to  her  a  sword,  and  fights  by  her  brethren, 
and  goes  as  far  forward  as  the  bravest  of  man  folk  ;  and  all 
spoke  in  one  wise  that  never  saw  any  fairer  defense  tlian  in 
her. 

Now  the  men  fell  thick,  and  far  before  all  others  was  the 
fighting  of  those  brethren,  and  the  battle  endured  a  long  while 
unto  midday  ;  Gunnar  and  Hogni  went  right  through  the  folk 


TALES   FROM   THE   NORTHERN    MYTHS.  311 

of  Atli,  and  so  tells  the  tale  that  all  the  mead  ran  red  with 
blood  ;  the  sons  of  Hogui  withal  set  on  stoutly. 

Then  spake  Atli  the  king,  "  A  fair  host  and  a  great  have 
we,  and  mighty  champions  withal,  and  yet  have  many  of  us 
fallen,  and  but  evil  am  I  apaid  in  that  nineteen  of  my  cham- 
pions are  slain,  and  but  six  left  alive." 

And  therewithal  was  there  a  lull  in  the  battle. 

Then  spake  Atli  the  king,  "Four  brethren  were  we,  and 
now  am  I  left  alone ;  great  affinity  I  gat  to  me,  and  deemed 
my  fortune  well  sped  thereby;  a  wife  I  had,  fair  and  wise, 
high  of  mind,  and  great  of  heart ;  but  no  joyance  may  I  have 
of  her  wisdom,  for  little  peace  is  betwixt  us;  but  ye — ye 
have  slain  many  of  my  kin,  and  beguiled  me  of  realm  and 
riches,  and  for  the  greatest  of  all  woes  have  slain  my  sister 
fv^ithal." 

Quoth  Hogni :  "  Why  babblest  thou  thus  ?  thou  wert  the 
first  to  break  the  peace.  Thou  didst  take  my  kinswoman  and 
pine  her  to  death  by  hunger,  and  didst  murder  her,  and  take 
her  wealth  ;  an  ugly  deed  for  a  king  I  — meet  for  mocking  and 
laughter  I  deem  it,  that  thou  must  needs  make  long  tale  of  thy 
woes ;  rather  will  I  give  thanks  to  the  gods  that  thou  fallest 
into  ill." 


OP   THE   SLAYING   OF   THE  GITJKINGS. 

Now  King  Atli  eggs  on  his  folk  to  set  on  fiercely,  and 
eagerly  they  fight ;  but  the  Giukings  fell  on  so  hard  that 
King  Atli  gave  back  into  the  hall,  and  within  doors  was  the 
fight,  and  fierce  beyond  all  fights. 

That  battle  was  the  death  of  many  a  man,  but  such  was  the 
ending  thereof  that  there  fell  all  the  folk  of  those  brethren, 
and  they  twain  alone  stood  up  on  their  feet,  and  yet  many 
more  must  fare  to  hell  first  before  their  weapons. 

And  now  they  fell  on  Gunnar  the  king,  and  because  of  the 
host  of  men  that  set  on  him  was  hand  laid  on  him,  and  he  was 
cast  into  fetters  ;  afterwards  fought  Hogni,  with  the  stoutest 
.leart  and  the  greatest  manlihood ;  and  he  felled  to  earth 
twenty  of  the  stoutest  of  the  champions  of  King  Atli,  and 
many  he  thrust  into  the  fire  that  burnt  amidst  the  hall,  and  all 
were  of  one  accord  that  such  a  man  might  scarce  be  seen ;  yet 
in  the  end  was  he  borne  down  by  many  and  taken. 


312  TALES   FROM   THE   NORTHERN   MYTHS. 

Then  said  King  Atli  :  "  A  marvelous  thing  how  many  men 
have  gone  their  ways  before  him  1  Cut  the  heart  from  out  of 
him,  and  let  that  be  his  bane  !  " 

Hogni  said,  "  Do  according  to  thy  will ;  merrily  will  I 
abide  whatso  thou  wilt  do  against  me ;  and  thou  shalt  see 
that  my  heart  is  not  adrad,  for  hard  matters  have  I  made 
trial  of  ere  now,  and  all  things  that  may  try  a  man  was  I 
fain  to  bear,  whiles  yet  I  was  unhurt ;  but  now  sorely  am  I 
hurt,  and  thou  alone  henceforth  will  bear  mastery  in  our 
dealings  together." 

Then  spake  a  counselor  of  King  Atli,  "  Better  rede  I  see 
thereto ;  take  we  tlie  thrall  Hjalli,  and  give  respite  to  Hogni ; 
for  this  thrall  is  made  to  die,  since  the  longer  he  lives  the  less 
worth  shall  he  be." 

The  thrall  hearkened,  and  cried  out  aloft,  and  fled  away 
anywhither  where  he  might  hope  for  shelter,  crying  out  that 
a  hard  portion  was  his  because  of  their  strife  and  wild  doings, 
and  an  ill  day  for  him  whereon  he  must  be  dragged  to  death 
from  his  sweet  life  and  his  swine  keeping.  But  they  caught 
him,  and  turned  a  knife  against  him,  and  he  yelled  and 
screamed  or  ever  he  felt  the  point  thereof. 

Then  in  such  wise  spake  Hogni  as  a  man  seldom  speaketh 
who  is  fallen  into  hard  need,  for  he  prayed  for  the  thrall's 
life,  and  said  that  these  shrieks  he  could  not  away  with,  and 
that  it  were  a  lesser  matter  to  him  to  play  out  the  play  to 
the  end ;  and  therewithal  the  thrall  gat  his  life  as  for  that 
time ;  but  Gunnar  and  Hogni  are  both  laid  in  fetters. 

Then  spake  King  Atli  with  Gunnar  the  king,  and  bade  him 
tell  out  concerning  the  gold,  and  where  it  was,  if  he  would 
have  his  life. 

But  he  answered,  "Nay,  first  will  I  behold  the  bloody  heart 
of  Hogni,  my  brother." 

So  now  they  caught  hold  of  the  thrall  again,  and  cut  the 
heart  from  out  of  him,  and  bore  it  unto  King  Gunnar,  but 
he  said, — 

"  The  faint  heart  of  Hjalli  may  ye  here  behold,  little  like 
the  proud  heart  of  Hogni,  for  as  much  as  it  trembleth  now, 
more  by  the  half  it  trembled  whenas  it  lay  in  the  breast  of 
him." 

So  now  they  fell  on  Hogni  even  as  Atli  urged  them,  and 
cut  the  heart  from  out  of  him,  but  such  was  the  might  of  his 
manhood   that   he  laughed  while  he  abode  that  torment,  ana 


LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE.  313 

all  wondered  at  his  worth,  and  in  perpetual  memory  is  it  held 
sithence. 

Then  they  showed  it  to  Gunnar,  and  he  said,  — 

"  The  mighty  heart  of  Hogni,  little  like  the  faint  heart  of 
Hjalli,  for  little  as  it  trembleth  now,  less  it  trembled  whenas 
in  his  breast  it  lay  I  But  now,  O  Atli,  even  as  we  die  so 
shalt  thou  die ;  and  lo,  I  alone  wot  where  the  gold  is,  nor 
shall  Hogni  be  to  tell  thereof  now ;  to  and  fro  played  the 
matter  in  my  mind  whiles  we  both  lived,  but  now  have  I 
myself  determined  for  myself,  and  the  Rhine  River  shall  rule 
over  the  gold,  rather  than  that  the  Huns  shall  bear  it  on  the 
hands  of  them." 

Then  said  King  Atli,  "  Have  away  the  bondsman,"  and 
so  they  did. 

But  Gudrun  called  to  her  men,  and  came  to  Atli,  and  said, 
"  May  it  fare  ill  with  thee  now  and  from  henceforth,  even  as 
thou  hast  ill  held  to  thy  word  with  me  !  " 

So  Gunnar  was  cast  into  a  worm  close  [snake  pen],  and 
many  worms  abode  him  there,  and  his  hands  were  fast  bound  ; 
but  Gudrun  sent  him  a  harp,  and  in  such  wise  did  he  set  forth 
his  craft  that  wisely  he  smote  the  harp,  smiting  it  with  his 
toes,  and  so  excellently  well  he  played  that  few  deemed  they 
had  heard  such  playing,  even  when  the  hand  had  done  it. 
And  with  such  might  and  power  he  played  that  all  the 
worms  fell  asleep  in  the  end,  save  one  adder  only,  great  and 
evil  of  aspect,  that  crept  unto  him  and  thrust  its  sting  into 
him  until  it  smote  his  heart;  and  in  such  wise  with  great 
hardihood  he  ended  his  life  days. 


LEMMINKAINEN'S   VOYAGE. 

(From  the  "  Kalevala. "     Translated  by  John  M.  Crawford.    Used  by  permission 
of  Robert  Clarke  &  Co.) 

[ELiLEVALA  (signifying  "  abode  of  heroes")  :  The  national  epic  of  Finland, 
the  elements  of  which  are  popular  songs,  legendary  poems,  etc.  It  owes  its 
present  form  to  Dr.  Elias  Lonnrott,  a  Finnish  scholar  (1802-1884),  who  spent 
many  years  in  travel  in  Finland  and  the  Finnish  parts  of  Lapland  and  Russia, 
faithfully  recording  all  the  songs  and  stories  that  he  heard  from  peasants,  fisher- 
men, etc.  The  first  version  ( 1835)  contained  twelve  thousand  verses,  in  thirty-two 
runes  or  cantos ;  the  second  version  (1849),  the  present  form  of  the  poem,  has 


314  LEMMINKALNEN'S  VOYAGE. 

twenty-three  thousand  verses,  in  fifty  runes.  Professor  Max  Mliller  saiil  that 
the  Kalevala  possessed  merits  not  dissimilar  to  those  of  the  Iliad,  and  would 
claim  its  place  as  the  fifth  national  epic  of  the  world.] 

EuNE  XXIX:    The  Isle  of  Refuqk. 

Lemminkainen,  full  of  joyance, 

Handsome  hero,  Kaukomieli, 

Took  provisions  in  abundance, 

Fish  and  butter,  bread  and  bacon, 

Hastened  to  the  Isle  of  Refuge, 

Sailed  away  across  the  oceans, 

Spake  these  measures  on  departing :  — 

"  Fare  thee  well,  mine  island  dwelling, 

I  must  sail  to  other  borders, 

To  an  island  more  protective, 

Till  the  second  summer  passes ; 

Let  the  serpents  keep  the  island. 

Lynxes  rest  within  the  glenwood. 

Let  the  blue  moose  roam  the  mountains, 

Let  the  wild  geese  eat  the  barley. 

Fare  thee  well,  my  helpful  mother ! 

When  the  warriors  of  the  Northland, 

From  the  dismal  Sariola, 

Come  with  swords,  and  spears,  and  crossbows, 

Asking  for  my  head  in  vengeance, 

Say  that  I  have  long  departed. 

Left  my  mother's  island  dwelling. 

When  the  barley  had  been  garnered." 

Then  he  launched  hio  boat  of  copper, 
Threw  the  vessel  to  the  waters, 
From  the  iron-banded  rollers, 
From  the  cylinders  of  oak  wood, 
On  the  masts  the  sails  he  hoisted. 
Spread  the  magic  sails  of  linen, 
In  the  stern  the  hero  settled 
And  prepared  to  sail  his  vessel. 
One  hand  resting  on  the  rudder. 

Then  the  sailor  spake  as  follows, 
These  the  words  of  Lemminkainen :  — 
"  Blow,  ye  winds,  and  drive  me  onward, 
Blow  ye  steady,  winds  of  heaven, 
Toward  the  island  in  the  ocean. 
That  my  bark  may  fly  in  safety 
To  my  father's  place  of  refuge, 
To  the  far  and  nameless  island!  " 


LElvmiNKAINENS   VOYAGE.  ^15 

Soon  the  winds  arose  as  bidden, 
Rocked  the  vessel  o'er  the  billows, 
O'er  the  blue  back  of  the  waters, 
O'er  the  vast  expanse  of  ocean ; 
Blew  two  months  and  blew  unceasing, 
Blew  a  third  month  toward  the  island, 
Toward  his  father's  Isle  of  Refuge. 

Sat  some  maidens  on  the  seaside, 
On  the  sandy  beach  of  ocean, 
Turned  about  in  all  directions, 
Looking  out  upon  the  billov/s ; 
One  was  waiting  for  her  brother. 
And  a  second  for  her  father,  ^ 
And  a  third  one,  anxious,  waited 
Tor  the  coming  of  her  suitor ; 
There  they  spied  young  Lemmmkamen, 
There  perceived  the  hero's  vessel 
Sailing  o'er  the  bounding  billows ; 
It  was  like  a  hanging  cloudlet, 
Hanging  'twixt  the  earth  and  heaven 

Thus  the  island  maidens  wondered, 
Thus  they  spake  to  one  another :  — 
"  What  this  stranger  on  the  ocean. 
What  is  this  upon  the  waters  ? 
Art  thou  one  of  our  sea  vessels  ? 
Wert  thou  builded  on  this  island  ^ 
Sail  thou  straightway  to  the  harbor. 
To  the  island  point  of  landing,       ^^ 
That  thy  tribe  may  be  discovered. 

Onward  did  the  waves  propel  it, 
Rocked  his  vessel  o'er  the  billows. 
Drove  it  to  the  magic  island, 
Safely  landed  Lemminkainen 
On  the  sandy  shore  and  harbor. 

Spake  he  thus  when  he  had  landed. 
These  the  words  that  Ahti  uttered :  — 
« Is  there  room  upon  this  island. 
Is  there  space  within  this  harbor, 
Where  my  bark  may  lie  at  anchor,    ^^ 
Where  the  sun  may  dry  my  vessel .'' 

This  the  answer  of  the  virgins. 
Dwellers  on  the  Isle  of  Refuge:  — 
<<  There  is  room  within  this  harbor. 
On  this  island,  space  abundant. 
Where  thy  bark  may  lie  at  anchor, 


.316  LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE. 

Where  the  sun  may  dry  thy  vessel ; 

Lying  ready  are  the  rollers, 
Cylinders  adorned  with  copper ; 
If  thou  hadst  a  hundred  vessels, 
Shouldst  thou  come  with  boats  a  thousand, 
We  would  give  them  room  in  welcome." 

Thereupon  wild  Lemminkainen 
Rolled  his  vessel  in  the  harbor, 
On  the  cylinders  of  copper, 
Spake  these  words  when  had  ended :  — 
"  Is  there  room  upon  this  island. 
Or  a  spot  within  these  forests, 
Where  a  hero  may  be  hidden 
From  the  coming  din  of  battle. 
From  the  play  of  spears  and  arrows  ?  " 
Thus  replied  the  island  maidens :  — 
"  There  are  places  on  this  island, 
On  these  plains  a  spot  befitting, 
Where  to  hide  thyself  in  safety. 
Hero  son  of  little  valor. 
Here  are  many,  many  castles. 
Many  courts  upon  this  island ; 
Though  there  come  a  thousand  heroes, 
Though  a  thousand  spearmen  follow, 
Thou  canst  hide  thyself  in  safety." 
Spake  the  hero,  Lemminkainen  :  — 
"  Is  there  room  upon  this  island, 
Where  the  birch  tree  grows  abundant, 
Where  this  son  may  fell  the  forest, 
•  And  may  cultivate  the  fallow  ?  " 
Answered  thus  the  island  maidens :  — 
"  There  is  not  a  spot  befitting. 
Not  a  place  upon  the  island, 
Where  to  rest  thy  wearied  members. 
Not  the  smallest  patch  of  birch  wood. 
Thou  canst  bring  to  cultivation. 
All  our  fields  have  been  divided, 
All  these  woods  have  been  apportioned, 
Fields  and  forests  have  their  owners." 

Lemminkainen  asked  this  question, 
These  the  words  of  Kaukomieli :  — 
"  Is  there  room  upon  this  island. 
Worthy  spot  in  field  or  forest, 
Where  to  sing  my  songs  of  magic. 
Chant  my  gathered  store  of  wisdom, 


LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE.  317 

Sing  mine  ancient  songs  and  legends  ?  " 
Answered  thus  the  island  maidens :  — 
"  There  is  room  upon  this  island, 
Worthy  place  in  these  dominions, 
Thou  canst  sing  thy  garnered  wisdom, 
Thou  canst  chant  thine  ancient  legendi, 
Legends  of  the  times  primeval. 
In  the  forest,  in  the  castle, 
On  the  island  plains  and  pastures." 

Then  began  the  reckless  minstrel 
To  intone  his  wizard  sayings ; 
Sang  he  alders  to  the  waysides. 
Sang  the  oaks  upon  the  mountains. 
On  the  oak  trees  sang  he  branches. 
On  each  branch  he  sang  an  acorn, 
On  the  acorns,  golden  rollers. 
On  each  roller  sang  a  cuckoo ; 
Then  began  the  cuckoos,  calling, 
Gold  from  every  throat  came  streaming, 
Copper  fell  from  every  feather, 
And  each  wing  emitted  silver, 
Filled  the  isle  with  precious  metals. 

Sang  again  young  Lemniinkainen, 
Conjured  on,  and  sang,  and  chanted, 
Sang  to  precious  stones  the  sea  sands, 
Sang  the  stones  to  pearls  resplendent, 
Robed  the  groves  in  iridescence. 
Sang  the  island  full  of  flowers. 
Many-colored  as  the  rainbow. 
Sang  again  the  magic  minstrel. 
In  the  court  a  well  he  conjured. 
On  the  wall  a  golden  cover, 
On  the  lid  a  silver  dipper. 
That  the  boys  might  drink  the  water. 
That  the  maids  might  lave  their  eyelids. 
On  the  plains  he  conjured  lakelets. 
Sang  the  duck  upon  the  waters, 
Golden-cheeked  and  silver-headed. 
Sang  the  feet  from  shining  copper; 
And  the  island  maidens  wondered. 
Stood  entranced  at  Ahti's  wisdom. 
At  the  songs  of  Lemminkainen, 
At  the  hero's  magic  power. 

Spake  the  singer,  Lemminkainen, 
Handsome  hero,  Kaukomieli :  — 


318  LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE. 

"  I  would  sing  a  wondrous  legend, 
Sing  in  miracles  of  sweetness, 
If  within  some  hall  or  chamber, 
I  were  seated  at  the  table. 
If  I  sing  not  in  the  castle, 
In  some  spot  by  walls  surrounded. 
Then  I  sing  my  songs  to  zephyrs. 
Fling  them  to  the  fields  and  forests." 
Answered  thus  the  island  maidens:  — 
"  On  this  isle  are  castle  chambers, 
Halls  for  use  of  magic  singers, 
Courts  complete  for  chanting  legends. 
Where  thy  singing  will  be  welcome, 
Where  thy  songs  will  not  be  scattered 
To  the  forests  of  the  island, 
Nor  thy  wisdom  lost  in  ethei'." 

Straightway  Lemminkainen  journeyed 
With  the  maidens  to  the  castle ; 
There  he  sang  and  conjured  pitchers 
On  the  borders  of  the  tables, 
Sang  and  conjured  golden  goblets 
Foaming  with  the  beer  of  barley ; 
Sang  he  many  well-filled  vessels. 
Bowls  of  honey  drink  abundant. 
Sweetest  butter,  toothsome  biscuit. 
Bacon,  fish,  and  veal,  and  venison. 
All  the  dainties  of  the  Northland, 
Wherewithal  to  still  his  hunger. 
But  the  proud  heart,  Lemminkainen, 
Was  not  ready  for  the  banquet. 
Did  not  yet  begin  his  feasting, 
Waited  for  a  knife  of  silver. 
For  a  knife  of  golden  handle ; 
Quick  he  sang  the  precious  metals, 
Sang  a  blade  from  purest  silver. 
To  the  blade  a  golden  handle, 
Straightway  then  began  his  feasting, 
Quenched  his  thirst  and  stilled  his  hunger, 
Charmed  the  maidens  on  the  island. 

Then  the  minstrel,  Lemminkainen, 
Boamed  throughout  the  island  hamlets, 
To  the  joy  of  all  the  virgins. 
All  the  maids  of  braided  tresses ; 
Wheresoe'er  he  turned  his  footsteps. 
There  appeared  a  maid  to  greet  him; 


LEMMINKAINEN'S   VOYAGE.  319 

When  his  hand  was  kindly  offered, 
There  his  hand  was  kindly  taken  ; 
When  he  wandered  out  at  evening, 
Even  in  the  darksome  places, 
There  the  maidens  bade  him  welcome; 
There  was  not  an  island  village 
Where  there  were  not  seven  castles. 
In  each  castle  seven  daughters, 
And  the  daughters  stood  in  waiting, 
Gave  the  hero  joyful  greetings. 
Only  one  of  all  the  maidens 
Whom  he  did  not  greet  with  pleasure. 

Thus  the  merry  Lemminkainen 
Spent  three  summers  in  the  ocean, 
Spent  a  merry  time  in  refuge. 
In  the  hamlets  on  the  island, 
To  the  pleasure  of  the  maidens. 
To  the  joy  of  all  the  daughters; 
Only  one  was  left  neglected, 
She  a  poor  and  graceless  spinster, 
On  the  isle's  remotest  border. 
In  the  smallest  of  the  hamlets. 

Then  he  thought  about  his  journey 
O'er  the  ocean  to  his  mother. 
To  the  cottage  of  his  father. 
There  appeared  the  slighted  spinster, 
To  the  Northland  son  departing. 
Spake  these  words  to  Lemminkainen :  — 
"  0  thou  handsome  Kaukomieli, 
Wisdom  bard,  and  magic  singer, 
Since  this  maiden  thou  hast  slighted, 
May  the  winds  destroy  thy  vessel. 
Dash  thy  bark  to  countless  fragments 
On  the  ocean  rocks  and  ledges  ! " 

Lemminkaiuen's  thoughts  were  homeward, 
Did  not  heed  the  maiden's  murmurs, 
Did  not  rise  before  the  dawning 
Of  the  morning  on  the  island. 
To  the  pleasure  of  the  maiden 
Of  the  much-neglected  hamlet. 
Finally  at  close  of  evening. 
He  resolved  to  leave  the  island, 
He  resolved  to  waken  early, 
Long  before  the  dawn  of  morning ; 
Long  before  the  time  appointed, 


320  LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE. 

He  arose  that  he  might  wander 
Through  the  hamlets  of  the  island, 
Bid  adieu  to  all  the  maidens, 
On  the  morn  of  his  departure. 
As  he  wandered  hither,  thither, 
Walking  through  the  village  pathways 
To  the  last  of  all  the  hamlets ; 
Saw  he  none  of  all  the  castles, 
Where  three  dwellings  were  not  standing; 
Saw  he  none  of  all  the  dwellings 
Where  three  heroes  were  not  watching ; 
Saw  he  none  of  all  the  heroes, 
Who  was  not  engaged  in  grinding 
Swords,  and  spears,  and  battle-axes, 
For  the  death  of  Lemminkainen. 
And  these  words  the  hero  uttered :  — 
"  Now  alas !  the  Sun  arises 
From  his  couch  within  the  ocean, 
On  the  frailest  of  the  heroes, 
On  the  saddest  child  of  Northland; 
On  my  neck  the  cloak  of  Lempo 
Might  protect  me  from  all  evil. 
Though  a  hundred  foes  assail  me. 
Though  a  thousand  archers  follow." 

Then  he  left  the  maids  ungreeted, 
Left  his  longing  for  the  daughters 
Of  the  nameless  Isle  of  Refuge, 
With  his  farewell  words  unspoken. 
Hastened  toward  the  island  harbor, 
Toward  his  magic  bark  at  anchor ; 
But  he  found  it  burned  to  ashes. 
Sweet  revenge  had  fired  his  vessel, 
Lighted  by  the  slighted  spinster. 
Then  he  saw  the  dawn  of  evil, 
Saw  misfortune  hanging  over. 
Saw  destruction  round  about  him. 
Straightway  he  began  rebuilding 
Him  a  magic  sailing  vessel, 
New  and  wondrous,  full  of  beauty ; 
But  the  hero  needed  timber. 
Boards,  and  planks,  and  beams,  and  braces, 
Found  the  smallest  bit  of  lumber, 
Found  of  boards  but  seven  fragments, 
Of  a  spool  he  found  three  pieces, 
Found  six  pieces  of  the  distaff ; 


LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE.  321 

With  these  fragments  builds  his  vessel, 
Builds  a  ship  of  magic  virtue, 
Builds  the  bark  with  secret  knowledge, 
Through  the  will  of  the  magician ; 
Strikes  one  blow,  and  builds  the  first  part, 
Strikes  a  second,  builds  the  center. 
Strikes  a  third  with  wondrous  power, 
And  the  vessel  is  completed. 

Thereupon  the  ship  he  launches. 
Sings  the  vessel  to  the  ocean. 
And  these  words  the  hero  utters :  — 
"  Like  a  bubble  swim  these  waters, 
Like  a  flower  ride  the  billows ; 
Loan  me  of  thy  magic  feathers, 
Three,  0  eagle,  four,  0  raven. 
For  protection  to  my  vessel. 
Lest  it  flounder  in  the  ocean ! " 

Now  the  sailor,  Lemminkainen, 
Seats  himself  upon  the  bottom 
Of  the  vessel  he  has  builded. 
Hastens  on  his  journey  homeward. 
Head  depressed  and  evil-humored. 
Cap  awry  upon  his  forehead, 
Mind  dejected,  heavy-hearted, 
That  he  could  not  dwell  forever 
In  the  castles  of  the  daughters 
Of  the  nameless  Isle  of  Refuge. 

Spake  the  minstrel,  Lemminkainen, 
Handsome  hero,  Kaukomieli :  — 
"  Leave  I  must  this  merry  island. 
Leave  her  many  joys  and  pleasures, 
Leave  her  maids  with  braided  tresses, 
Leave  her  dances  and  her  daughters, 
To  the  joys  of  other  heroes ; 
But  I  take  this  comfort  with  me : 
All  the  maidens  on  the  island. 
Save  the  spinster  who  was  slighted, 
Will  bemoan  my  loss  for  ages. 
Will  regret  my  quick  departure ; 
They  will  miss  me  at  the  dances. 
In  the  halls  of  mirth  and  joyance. 
In  the  homes  of  merry  maidens. 
On  my  father's  Isle  of  Refuge." 

Wept  the  maidens  on  the  island, 
Long  lamenting,  loudly  calling 


«22  LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE. 

To  the  hero  sailing  homeward :  — 
"  Whither  goest,  Lemminkainen, 
Why  depart,  thou  best  of  heroes  ? 
Dost  thou  leave  from  inattention, 
Is  there  here  a  dearth  of  maidens, 
Have  our  greetings  been  unworthy  ?  " 

Sang  the  magic  Lemminkainen 
To  the  maids  as  he  was  sailing, 
This  in  answer  to  their  calling :  — 
*'  Leaving  not  for  want  of  pleasure, 
Do  not  go  from  dearth  of  women ; 
Beautiful  the  island  maidens. 
Countless  as  the  sands  their  virtues. 
This  the  reason  of  my  going, 
I  am  longing  for  my  home  land, 
Longing  for  my  mother's  cabins. 
For  the  strawberries  of  Northland, 
For  the  raspberries  of  Kalew, 
For  the  maidens  of  my  childhood. 
For  the  children  of  my  mother." 

Then  the  merry  Lemminkainen 
Bade  farewell  to  all  the  island ; 
Winds  arose  and  drove  his  vessel 
On  the  blue  back  of  the  ocean, 
O'er  the  far  extending  waters, 
Toward  the  island  of  his  mother. 
On  the  shore  were  grouped  the  daughters 
Of  the  magic  Isle  of  Refuge, 
On  the  rocks  sat  the  forsaken, 
Weeping  stood  the  island  maidens, 
Golden  daughters,  loud  lamenting. 
Weep  the  maidens  of  the  island 
While  the  sail  yards  greet  their  vision, 
While  the  copper  beltings  glisten ; 
Do  not  weep  to  lose  the  sail  yards. 
Nor  to  lose  the  copper  beltings ; 
Weep  they  for  the  loss  of  Ahti, 
For  the  fleeing  Kaukomieli 
Guiding  the  departing  vessel. 
Also  weeps  young  Lemminkainen, 
Sorely  weeps,  and  loud  lamenting, 
Weeps  while  he  can  see  the  island. 
While  the  island  hilltops  glisten; 
Does  not  mourn  the  island  mountains, 
Weeps  he  only  for  the  maidens. 
Left  upon  the  Isle  of  Refuge. 


LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE.  323 

Thereupon  sailed  Kaukomieli 
On  the  bhie  back  of  the  ocean ; 
Sailed  one  day,  and  then  a  second, 
-But,  alas  !  upon  the  third  day. 
There  arose  a  mighty  stormwind 
And  the  sky  was  black  with  fury 
Blew  the  black  winds  from  the  northwest, 
From  the  southeast  came  the  whirlwind. 
Tore  away  the  ship's  forecastle, 
Tore  away  the  vessel's  rudder. 
Dashed  the  wooden  hull  to  pieces 
Thereupon  wild  Lemminkainen 
Headlong  fell  upon  the  waters  • 
With  his  head  he  did  the  steerin<^ 
With  his  hands  and  feet,  the  rowing- 
Swam  whole  days  and  nights  unceasing. 
Swam  with  hope  and  strength  united, 
lill  at  last  appeared  a  cloudlet. 
Growing  cloudlet  to  the  westward 
Changing  to  a  promontory,  ' 

Into  land  within  the  ocean. 

Swiftly  to  the  shore  swam  Ahti 
Hastened  to  a  magic  castle,  ' 

Found  therein  a  hostess  baking, 
And  her  daughters  kneading  barley 
And  these  words  the  hero  uttered  •  — 
"0  thou  hostess,  filled  with  kindness, 
Cou  dst  thou  know  my  pangs  of  hunger, 
Couldst  thou  guess  my  name  and  station, 
Thou  wouldst  hasten  to  the  storehouse 
iJring  me  beer  and  foaming  liquor 
Bring  the  best  of  thy  provisions,    ' 
Bring  me  fish,  and  veal,  and  bacon, 
Butter,  bread,  and  honeyed  biscuits, 
Set  for  me  a  wholesome  dinner, 
Wherewithal  to  still  my  hunger 
Quench  the  thirst  of  Lemminkainen 
Days  and  nights  have  I  been  swimming. 
i5uffeting  the  waves  of  ocean. 
Seemed  as  if  the  wind  protected, 
And  the  billows  gave  me  shelter  " 

Then  the  hostess,  filled  with  kindness. 
Hastened  to  the  mountain  storehouse, 
Cut  some  butter,  veal,  and  bacon, 
Bread,  and  fish,  and  honeyed  biscuit, 


324  LEIVIMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE. 

Brought  the  best  of  her  provisions,     " 
Brought  the  mead  and  beer  of  barley, 
Set  for  him  a  toothsome  dinner, 
Wherewithal  to  still  his  hunger, 
Quench  the  thirst  of  Lemminkainen. 
When  the  hero's  feast  had  ended, 
Straightway  was  a  magic  vessel 
Given  by  the  kindly  hostess 
To  the  weary  Kaukomieli, 
Bark  of  beauty,  new  and  hardy, 
Wherewithal  to  aid  the  stranger 
In  his  journey  to  his  home  land, 
To  the  cottage  of  his  mother. 

Quickly  sailed  wild  Lemminkainen 
On  the  blue  back  of  the  ocean ; 
Sailed  he  days  and  nights  unceasing, 
Till  at  last  he  reached  the  borders 
Of  his  own  loved  home  and  country ; 
There  beheld  he  scenes  familiar, 
Saw  the  islands,  capes,  and  rivers. 
Saw  his  former  shipping  stations. 
Saw  he  many  ancient  landmarks, 
Saw  the  mountains  with  their  fir  treei, 
Saw  the  pine  trees  on  the  hilltops, 
Saw  the  willows  in  the  lowlands ; 
Did  not  see  his  father's  cottage, 
Nor  the  dwellings  of  his  mother. 
Where  a  mansion  once  had  risen. 
There  the  alder  trees  were  growing. 
Shrubs  were  growing  on  the  homestead, 
Junipers  within  the  courtyard. 
Spake  the  reckless  Lemminkainen :  — 
"  In  this  glen  I  played  and  wandered. 
On  these  stones  I  rocked  for  ages. 
On  this  lawn  I  rolled  and  tumbled, 
Frolicked  on  these  woodland  borders, 
When  a  child  of  little  stature. 
Where  then  is  my  mother's  dwelling, 
Where  the  castles  of  my  father  ? 
Fire,  I  fear,  has  found  the  hamlet, 
And  the  winds  dispersed  the  ashes." 

Then  he  fell  to  bitter  weeping, 
Wept  one  day,  and  then  a  second. 
Wept  the  third  day  without  ceasing ; 
Did  not  mourn  the  ancient  homestead, 
Nor  the  dwellings  of  his  father  j 


LEMMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE.  325 

Wept  he  for  his  darling  mother, 
Wept  he  for  the  dear  departed, 
For  the  loved  ones  of  the  island. 

Then  he  saw  the  bird  of  heaven, 
Saw  an  eagle  flying  near  him, 
And  he  asked  the  bird  this  question :  — 
"  Mighty  eagle,  bird  majestic, 
Grant  to  me  the  information. 
Where  my  mother  may  have  wandered, 
Whither  I  may  go  and  find  her!" 

But  the  eagle  knew  but  little, 
Only  knew  that  Ahti's  people 
Long  ago  together  perished  ; 
And  the  raven  also  answered 
That  his  people  had  been  scattered 
By  the  swords,  and  spears,  and  arrows. 
Of  his  enemies  from  Pohya. 
Spake  the  hero,  Lemminkainen :  — 
"  Faithful  mother,  dear  departed, 
Thou  who  nursed  me  in  my  childhood, 
Art  thou  dead  and  turned  to  ashes. 
Didst  thou  perish  for  my  follies. 
O'er  thy  head  are  willows  weeping, 
Junipers  above  thy  body. 
Alders  watching  o'er  thy  slumbers  ? 
This  my  punishment  for  evil. 
This  the  recompense  of  folly  ! 
Fool  was  I,  a  son  unworthy. 
That  I  measured  swords  in  Northland 
With  the  landlord  of  Pohyola. 
To  my  tribe  came  fell  destruction. 
And  the  death  of  my  dear  mother, 
Through  my  crimes  and  misdemeanors." 

Then  the  minstrel  looked  about  him, 
Anxious,  looked  in  all  directions. 
And  beheld  some  gentle  footprints, 
Saw  a  pathway  lightly  trodden 
Where  the  heather  had  been  beaten. 
Quick  as  thought  the  path  he  followed. 
Through  the  meadows,  through  the  brambles, 
O'er  the  hills,  and  through  the  valleys, 
To  a  forest,  vast  and  cheerless ; 
Traveled  far  and  traveled  farther, 
Still  a  greater  distance  traveled. 
To  a  dense  and  hidden  glenwood. 


326  LEIVIMINKAINEN'S  VOYAGE. 

In  the  middle  of  the  island ; 
Found  therein  a  sheltered  cabin, 
Found  a  small  and  darksome  dwelling 
Built  between  the  rocky  ledges, 
In  the  midst  of  triple  pine  trees ; 
And  within  he  spied  his  mother, 
Found  his  gray-haired  mother  weeping. 

Lemminkainen  loud  rejoices. 
Cries  in  tones  of  joyful  greetings, 
These  the  words  that  Ahti  utters :  — 
"  Faithful  mother,  well-beloved, 
Thou  that  gavest  me  existence, 
Happy  I,  that  thou  art  living, 
That  thou  hast  not  yet  departed 
To  the  kingdom  of  Tuoni, 
To  the  islands  of  the  blessed. 
I  had  thought  that  thou  hadst  perished, 
Hadst  been  murdered  by  my  foemen, 
Hadst  been  slain  with  bows  and  arrows. 
Heavy  are  mine  eyes  from  weeping, 
And  my  cheeks  are  white  with  sorrow. 
Since  I  thought  my  mother  slaughtered 
For  the  sins  I  had  committed  !  " 
Lemminkaiuen's  mother  answered:  — 
"  Long,  indeed,  hast  thou  been  absent, 
Long,  my  son,  hast  thou  been  living 
In  thy  father's  Isle  of  Refuge, 
Roaming  on  the  secret  island. 
Living  at  the  doors  of  strangers, 
Living  in  a  nameless  country, 
Refuge  from  the  Northland  foeman." 
Spake  the  hero,  Lemminkainen  :  — 
"  Charming  is  that  spot  for  living, 
Beautiful  the  magic  island. 
Rainbow-colored  was  the  forest, 
Blue  the  glimmer  of  the  meadows, 
Silvered  were  the  pine-tree  branches, 
Golden  were  the  heather  blossoms ; 
All  the  woodlands  dripped  with  honey. 
Eggs  in  every  rock  and  crevice, 
Honey  flowed  from  birch  and  sorb  tree. 
Milk  in  streams  from  fir  and  aspen. 
Beer  foam  dripping  from  the  willows, 
Charming  there  to  live  and  linger, 
All  their  edibles  delicious. 


SLYBOOTS.  827 

This  their  only  source  of  trouble : 
Great  the  fear  for  all  the  maidens, 
All  the  heroes  filled  with  envy, 
Feared  the  coming  of  the  stranger ; 
Thought  that  all  the  island  maidens. 
Thought  that  all  the  wives  and  daughters, 
All  the  good,  and  all  the  evil, 
Gave  thy  son  too  much  attention ; 
Thought  the  stranger,  Lemminkainen, 
Saw  the  island  maids  too  often ; 
Yet  the  virgins  I  avoided. 
Shunned  the  good  and  shunned  the  evil, 
Shunned  the  host  of  charming  daughters, 
As  the  black  wolf  shuns  the  sheepfold. 
As  the  hawk  neglects  the  chickens." 


SLYBOOTS. 
An  Esthonian  Folk  Tale. 

Edited  by  W.  F.  KIRBY. 

In  the  days  of  the  son  of  Kaliv  there  reigned  a  very  rich 
king  of  Kungla,  who  gave  a  great  feast  to  his  subjects  every 
seven  years  at  midsummer,  which  lasted  for  two  or  three  weeks 
together.  The  time  for  the  feast  came  round  again,  and  its 
commencement  had  been  looked  forward  to  for  some  months, 
though  with  some  uncertainty ;  for  twice  already,  seven  years 
ago  and  fourteen  years  ago,  the  anticipated  festival  had  come 
to  nothing.  Both  times  the  king  had  made  full  preparations 
for  the  feast,  but  no  man  had  tasted  it.  This  seemed  strange 
and  incredible,  but  there  were  many  people  everywhere  who 
could  bear  witness  to  the  facts.  It  was  said  that  on  both  these 
occasions  an  unknown  stranger  had  come  to  the  head  cook  and 
asked  to  be  permitted  to  taste  a  little  of  the  food  and  drink, 
but  the  moment  he  had  dipped  his  spoon  in  the  soup  kettle,  and 
put  the  froth  in  the  beer  can  to  his  mouth,  the  whole  contents 
of  the  storehouses,  pantries,  and  cellars  vanished  in  a  moment, 
so  that  not  a  scrap  or  drop  of  anything  remained.  The  cooks 
and  kitchen  boys  had  all  seen  and  sworn  to  the  truth  of  the 
matter,  but  the  people  were  so  enraged  at  the  collapse  of  the 


828  8LYB00T& 

feast  tliat  the  king  was  obliged  to  appease  them  seven  years 
before,  by  ordering  the  head  cook  to  be  hanged  for  having  given 
the  stranger  permission  to  taste  the  food.  In  order  to  prevent 
any  repetition  of  the  trouble,  the  king  proclaimed  that  he 
would  richly  reward  any  one  who  would  undertake  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  feast ;  and  at  length,  when  no  one  would  undertake 
the  responsibility,  the  king  promised  his  youngest  daughter  in 
marriage  to  any  one  who  should  succeed,  but  added  that  failure 
would  be  punished  with  death. 

A  long  way  from  the  capital,  and  near  the  borders  of  the 
kingdom,  lived  a  rich  farmer  who  liad  three  sons,  the  youngest 
of  whom  showed  great  intelligence  from  his  youth,  because  the 
Meadow  Queen  had  nursed  him,  and  had  often  secretly  given 
him  the  breast.  The  father  called  him  Slyboots,  and  used  to 
say  to  the  brothers,  "  You  two  elder  ones  must  earn  your  living 
by  your  bodily  strength  and  by  the  work  of  your  hands,  but  as 
for  you,  little  Slyboots,  you  will  be  able  to  rise  higher  in  the 
world  than  your  brothers,  by  your  own  cleverness." 

Before  the  father  died,  he  divided  all  his  corn  land  and 
meadows  between  his  two  elder  sons,  but  to  the  youngest  he 
gave  enough  money  to  enable  him  to  go  forth  into  the  wide 
world  to  seek  his  fortune.  But  the  father's  corpse  was  scarcely 
cold  when  the  two  elder  brothers  stripped  the  youngest  of 
every  farthing,  and  thrust  him  out  of  the  door,  saying  mock- 
ingly, "  Your  cleverness  alone.  Slyboots,  is  to  exalt  you  over 
our  heads,  and  therefore  you  might  find  the  money  trouble- 
some to  you." 

The  youngest  brother  scorned  to  notice  the  ill  treatment  of 
his  brothers,  and  went  cheerfully  on  his  way.  "  Good  fortune 
may  come  from  God,"  was  the  comforting  reflection  which  he 
took  with  him  from  his  father's  house,  and  he  whistled  away 
his  sad  thoughts.  Just  as  he  was  beginning  to  feel  hungry,  he 
encountered  two  traveling  journeymen.  His  pleasant  counte- 
nance and  cheerful  talk  pleased  them,  and  when  they  rested, 
they  shared  their  provisions  with  him,  so  that  Slyboots  did  not 
fare  so  badly  on  the  first  day.  He  parted  from  his  companions 
before  evening  quite  contented,  for  his  present  comfort  left  him 
without  anxiety  for  the  morrow.  He  could  sleep  anywhere, 
with  the  green  grass  for  a  couch  and  the  blue  sky  above,  and  a 
stone  under  his  head  served  as  well  as  a  soft  pillow.  Next 
morning  he  set  out  on  his  way  again,  and  arrived  at  a  lonely 
farm,  where  a  young  woman  was  sitting  at  the  door,  weeping 


SLYBOOTS.  329 

bitterly.       Slyboots    asked   what   was   her    trouble,    and    she 

answered,  "  I  have  a  bad  husband,  who  beats  me  every  day  if  I 
cannot  humor  his  mad  freaks.  He  has  ordered  me  to-day  to 
cook  him  a  fish  which  is  not  a  fish,  and  which  has  eyes,  but  not 
in  its  head.  Where  in  the  world  shall  I  find  such  a  creature  ?  '* 
"  Don't  cry,  young  woman,"  answered  Slyboots.  "  Your  hus- 
band wants  a  crab,  which  is  a  water  animal  to  be  sure,  but  is 
not  a  fish,  and  which  has  eyes,  but  not  in  its  head."  The 
woman  thanked  him  for  his  good  advice,  and  gave  him  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  a  bag  of  provisions  which  would  last  him  for 
several  days.  As  soon  as  he  received  this  unexpected  assist- 
ance, he  determined  to  set  out  for  the  royal  capital,  where 
cleverness  was  likely  to  be  in  most  request,  and  where  he 
hoped  to  make  his  fortune. 

Wherever  he  went,  he  heard  every  one  talking  of  the  king's 
midsummer  banquet,  and  when  he  heard  of  the  reward  which 
was  offered  to  the  man  who  should  prepare  the  feast,  he  began 
to  reflect  whether  he  might  not  be  able  to  accomplish  the  ad- 
venture. "  If  I  succeed,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  shall  find  my- 
self at  a  stroke  on  the  highway  to  fortune;  and  in  the  worst 
case  of  all,  I  shall  only  lose  my  life,  and  we  must  all  die  sooner 
or  later.  If  I  begin  in  the  right  way,  why  shouldn't  I  succeed  ? 
Perhaps  I  may  be  more  fortunate  than  others.  And  even  if  the 
king  should  refuse  me  his  daughter,  he  must  at  least  give  me 
the  promised  reward  in  money,  which  will  make  me  a  rich  man." 
Buoyed  up  with  such  thoughts  he  pursued  his  journey, 
singing  and  whistling  like  a  lark,  sometimes  resting  under  the 
shadow  of  a  bush  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  sleeping  at 
night  under  a  tree  or  in  the  open  fields.  One  morning  he 
finished  the  last  remains  of  his  provisions,  and  in  the  evening 
he  arrived  safe  and  sound  at  the  city. 

Next  day  he  craved  audience  of  the  king.  The  king  saw 
that  he  had  to  deal  with  an  intelligent  and  enterprising  man, 
and  it  was  easy  for  them  to  come  to  terms.  "  What  is  your 
name?"  asked  the  king.  The  man  of  brains  replied,  "My 
baptismal  name  is  Nicodemus,  but  I  was  always  called  Slyboots 
at  home,  to  show  that  I  did  not  fall  on  my  head."  "I  will 
leave  you  your  name,"  returned  the  king,  "but  your  head 
must  answer  for  all  the  mischief  if  the  affair  should  go  wrong." 
Slyboots  asked  the  king  to  give  him  seven  hundred  work- 
men, and  set  about  his  preparations  without  delay.  He  ordered 
twenty  large  sheds  to  be  constructed,  and  arranged  in  a  square 


aSO  SLYBOOTS. 

like  a  series  of  large  cow  houses,  so  that  a  great  open  spacd 
was  left  in  the  middle,  to  which  led  one  single  large  gate.  He 
ordered  great  cooking  pots  and  caldrons  to  be  built  in  the 
rooms  which  were  to  be  heated,  and  the  ovens  were  furnished 
with  iron  spits,  where  meat  and  sausages  could  be  roasted. 
Other  sheds  were  furnished  with  great  boilers  and  vats  for 
brewing  beer,  so  that  the  boilers  were  above  the  vats  below. 
Other  houses  without  fireplaces  were  fitted  up  as  storehouses 
for  cold  provisions,  such  as  black  bread,  barm  bracks,  white 
bread,  etc.  All  needful  stores,  such  as  flour,  groats,  meat,  salt, 
lard,  butter,  etc.,  were  brought  into  the  open  space,  and  fifty  sol- 
diers were  stationed  before  the  door,  so  that  nothing  should  be 
touched  by  the  finger  of  any  tliief.  The  king  came  every  day 
to  view  the  preparations,  and  praised  the  skill  and  forethought 
of  Slyboots.  Besides  all  this,  several  dozen  bakehouses  were 
built  in  the  open  air,  and  a  special  guard  of  soldiers  was  sta- 
tioned before  each.  They  slaughtered  for  the  feast  a  thousand 
oxen,  two  hundred  calves,  five  hundred  swine,  ten  thousand 
sheep,  and  many  more  small  animals,  which  were  driven  to- 
gether in  flocks  from  all  quarters.  Stores  of  provisions  were 
constantly  brought  by  river  in  boats  and  barges,  and  by  land 
in  wagons,  and  this  went  on  without  intermission  for  several 
weeks.  Seven  thousand  hogsheads  were  brewed  of  beer  alone. 
Although  the  seven  hundred  assistants  toiled  late  and  early, 
and  many  additional  laborers  were  engaged,  yet  most  of  the 
toil  and  trouble  fell  upon  Slyboots,  who  was  obliged  to  look 
sharply  after  the  others  at  every  point.  He  had  warned  the 
cooks,  the  bakers,  and  the  brewers,  in  the  most  stringent  man- 
ner, not  to  allow  any  strange  mouth  to  taste  the  food  or  drink, 
and  any  one  who  broke  this  command  was  threatened  with  the 
gallows.  If  such  a  greedy  stranger  should  make  his  appearance 
anywhere,  he  was  to  be  brought  immediately  to  the  superintend- 
ent of  the  preparations. 

On  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  the  feast,  word  was 
brought  to  Slyboots  that  an  unknown  old  man  had  come  into 
one  of  the  kitchens,  and  asked  the  cook  to  allow  him  to  taste  a 
little  from  the  soup  kettle  with  a  spoon,  which  the  cook  could 
not  permit  him  to  do  on  his  own  responsibility.  Slyboots 
ordered  the  stranger  to  be  brought  before  him,  and  presently 
he  beheld  a  little  old  man  with  gray  hair,  who  humbly  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  taste  the  food  and  drink  prepared  for  the  ban- 
quet.   Slyboots  told  him  to  come  into  one  of  the  kitchens,  when 


SLYBOOTS.  331 

he  would  gratify  his  wish  if  it  were  possible.  As  they  went, 
he  scanned  the  old  man  sharply,  to  see  whether  he  could  not 
detect  something  strange  about  him.  Presently  he  observed 
a  shining  gold  ring  on  the  ring  finger  of  the  old  man's  left 
hand.  When  they  reached  the  kitchen,  Slyboots  asked,  "  What 
security  can  you  give  me  that  no  harm  shall  come  of  it  if  I  let 
you  taste  the  food?"  "My  lord,"  answered  the  stranger,  "1 
have  nothing  to  offer  you  as  a  pledge."  Slyboots  pointed  to 
the  fine  gold  ring  and  demanded  that  as  a  pledge.  The  old 
fellow  resisted  with  all  his  might,  protesting  that  the  ring  was 
a  token  of  remembrance  from  his  dead  wife,  and  he  had  vowed 
never  to  take  it  from  his  hand,  lest  some  misfortune  should 
happen.  "  Then  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  grant  your 
request,"  said  Slyboots,  "  for  I  cannot  permit  any  one  to  taste 
either  the  food  or  drink  without  a  pledge."  The  old  man  was 
so  anxious  about  it  that  at  last  he  gave  his  ring  as  a  pledge. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  dip  his  spoon  in  the  pot,  Slyboots 
struck  him  so  heavy  a  blow  on  the  head  with  the  flat  of  an  ax 
that  it  might  have  felled  the  strongest  ox ;  but  the  old  fellow 
did  not  fall,  but  only  staggered  a  little.  Then  Slyboots  seized 
him  by  the  beard  with  both  hands,  and  ordered  strong  ropes  to 
be  brought,  with  which  he  bound  the  old  man  hand  and  foot, 
and  hung  him  up  by  the  legs  to  a  beam.  Then  Slyboots  said  to 
him  mockingly  :  "  You  may  wait  there  till  the  feast  is  over,  and 
then  we  will  resume  our  conversation.  Meantime,  I'll  keep 
your  ring,  on  which  your  power  depends,  as  a  token."  The 
old  man  was  obliged  to  submit,  whether  he  liked  it  or  not,  for 
he  was  bound  so  firmly  that  he  could  not  move  hand  or  foot. 

Then  the  great  feast  began,  to  which  the  people  flocked 
in  thousands  from  all  quarters.  Although  the  feasting  lasted 
for  three  whole  weeks,  there  was  no  want  of  either  food  or 
drink,  for  there  was  plenty  and  to  spare. 

The  people  were  much  pleased,  and  had  nothing  but  praise 
for  the  king  and  the  manager  of  the  feast.  When  the  king 
was  about  to  pay  Slyboots  the  promised  reward,  he  answered, 
"I  have  still  a  little  business  to  transact  with  the  stranger 
before  I  receive  my  reward."  Then  he  took  seven  strong 
men  with  him,  armed  with  heavy  cudgels,  and  took  them  to 
the  place  where  the  old  man  had  been  hanging  for  the  last 
three  weeks.  "  Now,  then,"  said  Slyboots,  "  grasp  your  cud- 
gels firmly,  and  belabor  the  old  man  so  that  he  shall  never 
forget  his  hospitable  reception  for  the  rest  of  his  life."     The 


332  SLYBOOTS. 

seven  men  began  to  whack  the  old  man  all  at  once,  and  would 
soon  have  made  an  end  of  his  life  if  the  rope  had  not  given 
way  under  their  blows.  The  little  man  fell  down  and  van- 
ished underground  in  an  instant,  leaving  a  wide  opening 
behind  him.  Then  said  Slyboots :  "  I  have  his  pledge,  with 
which  I  must  follow  him.  Bring  the  king  a  thousand  greet- 
ings from  me,  and  tell  him  to  divide  my  reward  among  the 
poor,  if  I  should  not  return." 

He  then  crept  downwards  through  the  hole  in  which  the 
old  man  had  disappeared.  At  first  he  found  the  pathway 
very  narrow,  but  it  widened  considerably  at  the  depth  of  a 
few  fathoms,  so  that  he  was  able  to  advance  easily.  Steps 
were  hewn  in  the  rock,  so  that  he  did  not  slip,  notwithstand- 
ing the  darkness.  Slyboots  went  on  for  some  distance,  till 
he  came  to  a  door.  He  looked  through  a  crack,  and  saw  three 
young  girls  sitting  with  the  old  man,  whose  head  was  resting 
on  the  lap  of  one  of  them.  The  girl  was  saying,  "If  I  only 
rub  the  bruise  a  few  times  more  with  the  bell,  the  pain  and 
swelling  will  disappear."  Slyboots  thought,  "That  is  cer- 
tainly the  place  where  I  struck  the  old  man  with  the  back 
of  the  ax  three  weeks  ago."  He  decided  to  wait  behind  the 
door  till  the  master  of  the  house  had  lain  down  to  sleep  and 
the  fire  was  extinguished.  Presently  the  old  man  said,  "  Help 
me  into  my  room,  that  I  may  go  to  bed,  for  my  body  is  quite 
out  of  joint  and  I  can't  move  hand  or  foot."  Then  they 
brought  him  to  his  room.  When  it  grew  dark,  and  the  girls 
had  left  the  room.  Slyboots  crept  gently  in  and  hid  himself 
behind  the  beer  barrel. 

Presently  the  girls  came  back,  and  spoke  gently,  so  as  not 
to  rouse  the  old  man.  "  The  bruise  on  the  head  is  of  no  con- 
sequence," said  one,  "  and  the  sprained  body  will  also  soon  be 
cured ;  but  the  loss  of  the  ring  of  strength  is  irreparable,  and 
this  troubles  the  old  man  more  than  his  bodily  sufferings." 
Soon  afterwards  they  heard  the  old  man  snoring ;  and  Sly- 
boots came  out  of  his  hiding  place  and  made  friends  with 
the  maidens.  At  first  they  were  rather  frightened,  but  the 
clever  youth  soon  contrived  to  dispel  their  alarm,  and  they 
allowed  him  to  stay  there  for  the  night.  The  maidens  told 
him  that  the  old  man  possessed  two  great  treasures,  —  a  magic 
sword  and  a  rod  of  rowan  wood,  —  and  he  resolved  to  possess 
himself  of  both.  The  rod  would  form  a  bridge  over  the  sea 
for  its  possessor,  and  he  who  bore  the  sword  could  destroy  tht 


SLYBOOTS.  333 

most  numerous  army.  On  the  following  evening,  Slyboots 
contrived  to  seize  upon  the  wand  and  the  sword,  and  escaped 
before  daybreak  with  the  help  of  the  youngest  girl.  But  the 
passage  had  disappeared  from  before  the  door,  and  in  its 
place  he  found  a  large  inclosure,  beyond  which  was  a  broad 

sea. 

As  soon  as  Slyboots  was  gone,  the  girls  began  to  quarrel, 
and  their  loud  talking  woke  up  the  old  man.  He  learned 
from  what  they  said  that  a  stranger  had  been  there,  and  he 
rose  up  in  a  passion,  and  found  the  wand  and  sword  gone. 
"  My  best  treasures  are  stolen !  "  he  roared,  and,  forgetting 
his  bruises,  he  rushed  out.  Slyboots  was  still  sitting  on  the 
beach,  thinking  whether  he  should  try  the  power  of  the  wand 
or  seek  for  a  dry  path.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  rushing  sound 
behind  him  like  a  gust  of  wind.  When  he  looked  round,  he 
saw  the  old  man  charging  upon  him  like  a  madman.  He 
sprang  up,  and  had  just  time  to  strike  the  waves  with  the 
rod  and  to  cry  out,  "  Bridge  before,  water  behind  !  "  He  had 
scarcely  spoken  when  he  found  himself  standing  on  a  bridge 
over  the  sea,  already  at  some  distance  from  the  shore. 

The  old  man  came  to  the  beach  panting  and  puffing,  but 
stopped  short  when  he  saw  the  thief  on  the  bridge  over  the  sea. 
He  called  out,  snuffling,  "  Nicodemus,  my  son,  where  are  you 
going  ?  "  "  Home,  papa,"  was  the  reply.  "  Nicodemus,  my  son, 
you  struck  me  on  the  head  with  an  ax,  and  hung  me  up  to  a 
beam  by  the  legs."  "  Yes,  papa."  "  Nicodemus,  my  son,  did 
you  call  seven  men  to  beat  me,  and  steal  my  gold  ring  from  me  ?  " 
"Yes,  papa."  "Nicodemus,  my  son,  have  you  bamboozled  my 
daughters  ?  "  "  Yes,  papa."  "  Nicodemus,  my  son,  have  you 
stolen  my  sword  and  wand?"  "Yes,  papa."  "Nicodemus, 
my  son,  will  you  come  back  ?  "  "  Yes,  papa,"  answered  Sly- 
boots again.  Meantime  he  had  advanced  so  far  on  the  bridge 
that  he  could  no  longer  hear  the  old  man  speak.  When  he  had 
crossed  the  sea,  he  inquired  the  nearest  way  to  the  royal  city, 
and  hastened  thither  to  claim  his  reward. 

But  lo !  he  found  everything  very  different  from  what  he 
had  expected.  Both  his  brothers  had  entered  the  service  of 
the  king,  one  as  a  coachman  and  the  other  as  a  chamberlain. 
Both  were  living  in  grand  style  and  were  rich  people.  When 
Slyboots  applied  to  the  king  for  his  reward,  the  latter  answered  : 
"  I  waited  for  you  for  a  whole  year,  and  I  neither  saw  nor  heard 
anything  of  you.     I  supposed  you  were  dead,  and  was  about  to 


334  SLYBOOTS. 

divide  your  reward  among  the  poor,  as  you  desired.  But  one 
day  your  elder  brothers  arrived  to  inherit  your  fortune.  I 
left  the  matter  to  the  court,  who  assigned  the  money  to  them, 
because  it  was  supposed  that  you  were  dead.  Since  then 
your  brothers  have  entered  my  service,  and  both  still  remain 
in  it." 

When  Slyboots  heard  what  the  king  said,  he  thought  he  must 
be  dreaming,  for  he  imagined  that  he  had  been  only  two  nights 
in  the  old  man's  subterranean  dwelling,  and  had  then  taken  a 
few  days  to  return  home  ;  but  now  it  appeared  that  each  night 
had  been  as  long  as  a  year.  He  would  not  go  to  law  with  his 
brothers,  but  abandoned  the  money  to  them,  thanked  God  that 
he  had  escaped  with  his  life,  and  looked  out  for  some  fresh 
employment.  The  king's  cook  engaged  him  as  kitchen  boy,  and 
he  now  had  to  turn  the  joints  on  the  spit  every  day.  His 
brothers  despised  him  for  his  mean  employment,  and  did  not 
like  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him,  although  he  still  loved 
them.  One  evening  he  told  them  of  much  that  he  had  seen  in 
the  underworld,  where  the  geese  and  ducks  had  gold  and  silver 
plumage.  The  brothers  related  this  to  the  king,  and  begged 
them  to  send  their  youngest  brother  to  fetch  these  curious 
birds.  The  king  sent  for  the  kitchen  boy,  and  ordered  hira  to 
start  next  morning  in  search  of  the  birds  with  the  costly 
feathers. 

Slyboots  set  out  next  day  with  a  heavy  heart,  but  he  took 
with  him  the  ring,  the  wand,  and  the  sword,  which  he  had  care- 
fully preserved.  Some  days  afterwards  he  searched  the  sea, 
and  saw  an  old  man  with  a  long  gray  beard  sitting  on  a  stone 
at  the  place  where  he  had  reached  land  after  his  flight.  When 
Slyboots  came  nearer,  the  old  man  asked,  "  Why  are  you  so 
sad,  my  friend  ?  "  Slyboots  told  him  how  badly  he  had  fared, 
and  the  old  man  bid  him  be  of  good  cheer,  and  not  vex  himself, 
adding,  "  No  harm  can  happen  to  you  as  long  as  you  wear  the 
ring  of  strength."  He  then  gave  Slyboots  a  mussel  shell,  and 
advised  him  to  build  the  bridge  with  the  magic  wand  to  the 
middle  of  the  sea,  and  then  to  step  on  the  shell  with  his  left 
foot,  when  he  would  immediately  find  himself  in  the  under- 
world, while  every  one  there  was  asleep.  He  also  advised  him 
to  make  himself  a  bag  of  spun  yarn,  in  which  to  put  the  water 
birds  with  gold  and  silver  plumage,  and  then  he  could  return 
unmolested.  Everything  fell  out  as  the  old  man  predicted,  but 
Slyboots  had  hardly  reached  the  seashore  with  his  booty  whea 


SLYBOOTS.  835 

he  heard  his  former  acquaintance  behind  him  ;  and  when  he 
was  on  the  bridge  he  heard  him  calling  out,  "  Nicodemus,  my 
son,"  and  repeating  the  same  questions  as  before.  At  last  he 
asked  if  he  had  stolen  the  birds.  Slyboots  answered  "Yes" 
to  every  question,  and  hastened  on. 

Slyboots  arrived  at  the  royal  city  in  the  evening,  as  his 
friend  with  the  gray  beard  had  foretold,  and  the  yarn  bag  held 
the  birds  so  well  that  none  had  escaped.  The  king  made  him 
a  present,  and  told  him  to  go  back  next  day,  for  he  had  heard 
from  the  two  elder  brothers  that  the  lord  of  the  underworld 
had  many  gold  and  silver  utensils,  which  the  king  desired  for 
his  own  use.  Slyboots  did  not  venture  to  refuse,  but  he  went 
very  unwillingly,  because  he  did  not  know  how  to  manage  the 
affair.  However,  when  he  reached  the  seashore  he  met  his 
friend  with  the  gray  beard,  who  asked  the  reason  of  his  sad- 
ness. The  old  man  gave  Slyboots  another  mussel  shell  and  a 
handful  of  small  stones,  with  the  following  advice:  "  If  you  go 
there  in  the  afternoon,  you  will  find  the  father  in  bed  taking 
his  siesta,  the  daughters  spinning  in  the  sitting  room,  and  the 
grandmother  in  the  kitchen  scouring  the  gold  and  silver  vessels 
bright.  Climb  nimbly  on  the  chimney,  throw  down  the  stones 
tied  up  in  a  bag  on  the  old  woman's  neck,  come  down  yourself 
as  quick  as  possible,  put  the  costly  vessels  in  the  yarn  bag,  and 
then  run  off  as  fast  as  your  legs  will  carry  you." 

Slyboots  thanked  his  friend,  and  followed  his  advice  exactly. 
But  when  he  dropped  the  bag  of  pebbles,  it  expanded  into  a  six 
hundredweight  sack  of  paving  stones,  which  dashed  the  old 
woman  to  the  ground.  In  a  moment  Slyboots  swept  all  the 
gold  and  silver  vessels  into  his  bag  and  took  to  flight.  When 
the  Old  Boy  heard  the  noise,  he  thought  the  chimney  had  fallen 
clown,  and  did  not  venture  to  get  up  directly.  But  when  he 
had  called  the  grandmother  for  a  long  time  without  receiving 
any  answer,  he  was  obliged  to  go  himself.  When  he  discovered 
the  misfortune  that  had  happened,  he  hastened  in  pursuit  of  the 
thief,  who  could  not  be  gone  far.  Slyboots  was  already  on  the 
sea  when  his  pursuer  reached  the  shore,  panting  and  puffing. 
As  before,  the  Old  Boy  cried  out,  "Nicodemus,  my  son,"  and 
repeated  the  former  questions.  At  last  'ie  asked,  "  Nicodemus, 
my  son,  have  you  stolen  my  gold  and  silver  utensils  ?  "  "  Cer- 
tainly, my  father,"  answered  Slyboots.  "  Nicodemus,  my  son, 
do  you  promise  to  come  again  ?  "  "  No,  my  father,"  answered 
Slyboots,  hurrying  along  the  bridge.     Although  the  old  maa 


336  SLYBOOTS. 

cursed  and  scolded  after  the  thief,  he  could  not  catch  him,  and 
he  had  now  been  despoiled  of  all  his  magic  treasures. 

Slyboots  found  his  friend  with  the  gray  beard  waiting  for 
him  on  the  other  side  of  the  sea,  and  he  threw  down  the  bag  of 
heavy  gold  and  silver  ware,  which  the  ring  of  strength  had 
enabled  him  to  bring  away,  and  sat  down  to  rest  his  weary 
limbs. 

The  old  man  now  told  him  much  that  shocked  him.  "  Your 
brothers  hate  you,  and  will  do  all  they  can  to  destroy  you,  if 
you  do  not  oppose  their  wicked  attempts.  They  will  urge  the 
king  on  to  set  you  tasks  in  which  you  are  very  likely  to  perish. 
When  you  bring  your  rich  load  to  the  king  this  evening,  you 
will  find  him  friendly  disposed  towards  you;  and  then  ask,  as 
your  only  reward,  that  his  daughter  should  be  hidden  behind 
the  door  in  the  evening,  to  hear  what  your  brothers  talk  about 
together." 

When  Slyboots  came  before  the  king  with  his  rich  booty, 
which  was  enough  to  make  at  least  ten  horse  loads,  he  found 
him  extremely  kind  and  friendly,  and  he  took  the  opportunity 
to  make  the  request  which  his  old  friend  had  advised.  The 
king  was  glad  that  the  treasure  bringer  asked  for  no  greater 
reward,  and  ordered  his  daughter  to  hide  herself  behind  the 
door  in  the  evening,  to  overhear  what  the  coachman  and  the 
chamberlain  were  talking  about. 

The  brothers  had  grown  haughty  with  prosperity,  and  boasted 
of  their  good  luck,  and  what  was  worse,  they  both  boasted  to 
each  other  of  the  favors  of  the  princess  in  her  own  hearing ! 
She  ran  to  her  father,  flushed  with  shame  and  anger,  and  told 
him,  weeping,  what  shameful  lies  she  had  heard  with  her  own 
ears,  and  begged  him  to  punish  the  wretches.  The  king  imme- 
diately ordered  them  both  to  be  thrown  into  prison,  and  when 
they  had  confessed  their  guilt  before  the  court  next  day,  they 
were  executed,  while  Slyboots  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of 
king's  councilor. 

Some  time  afterwards  the  country  was  invaded  by  a  foreign 
king,  and  Slyboots  was  sent  against  the  enemy  in  the  field. 
Then  he  drew  the  sword  which  he  had  brought  from  the  under- 
world for  the  first  time,  and  began  to  slaughter  the  hostile 
army,  and  soon  none  were  left  alive  on  the  bloody  field.  The 
king  was  so  pleased  at  the  victory  that  he  made  Slyboots  his 
son-in-law. 


RUSSIAN   FAIRY  TALES.  837 

RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES. 

Edited  by  R.  NISBET  BAIN. 

The  Golden  Mountain. 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  merchant's  son  who  squan- 
dered and  wasted  all  his  goods.  To  such  a  pass  did  he  come 
at  last  that  he  had  nothing  to  eat.  So  he  seized  a  spade,  went 
out  into  the  market  place,  and  began  waiting  to  see  if  any  one 
would  hire  him  as  a  laborer.  And  behold,  the  merchant  who 
was  one  in  seven  hundred  [seven  hundred  times  richer  than 
any  one  else]  came  along  that  way  in  his  gilded  coach  ;  all  the 
day  laborers  saw  him,  and  the  whole  lot  of  them  immediately 
scattered  in  every  direction  and  hid  themselves  in  "corners. 
The  merchant's  son  alone  of  them  all  remained  standing  in  the 
market  place. 

"  Do  you  want  work,  young  man  ?  "  said  the  merchant  who 
was  one  in  seven  hundred ;  "  then  take  hire  from  me." 

"  Right  willingly ;  'twas  for  no  other  reason  that  I  came  to 
the  market  place." 

"  And  what  wage  do  you  require  ?  " 

"  If  you  lay  me  down  one  hundred  roubles  a  "day,  'tis  a  bar- 
gain." 

"  That  is  somewhat  dear  1 " 

"  If  you  think  it  dear,  go  and  seek  a  cheaper  article  ;  but 
this  I  know,  crowds  of  people  were  here  just  now,  you  came,  and 
—  away  they  all  bolted." 

"  Well,  agreed  !  come  to-morrow  to  the  haven." 

The  next  day,  early  in  the  morning,  our  merchant's  son 
came  to  the  haven ;  the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hun- 
dred had  already  been  awaiting  him  some  time.  They  went  on 
board  ship  and  went  to  sea.  They  sailed  and  sailed.  In  the 
midst  of  the  sea  an  island  appeared  ;  on  this  island  stood  high 
mountains,  and  on  the  sea-shore  something  or  other  was  burn- 
ing like  fire. 

"  Can  that  which  I  see  be  fire  ?  "  said  the  merchant's  son. 

"  Nay,  that  is  my  little  golden  castle." 

They  drew  near  to  the  island ;  they  went  ashore  ;  his  wife  and 
daughter  came  forth  to  meet  the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven 
hundred,  and  the  daughter  was  beautiful  with  a  beauty  that  no 
man  can  Lijiagiue  or  devise,  and  no  tale  can  tell.     As  soon  as 


338  RUSSIAN   FAIRY  TALES. 

they  had  greeted  one  another  they  went  on  to  the  castle,  and 
took  the  new  laborer  along  with  them  ;  they  sat  them  down 
at  table,  they  began  to  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry.  "  A  fig  for 
to-day,"  said  the  host;  "to-day  we'll  feast,  to-morrow  we'll 
work." 

And  the  merchant's  son  was  a  fair  youth,  strong  and  stately, 
of  a  ruddy  countenance  like  milk  and  blood,  and  he  fell  in 
love  with  the  lovely  damsel.  She  went  out  into  the  next  room  ; 
she  called  him  secretly,  and  gave  him  a  flint  and  steel.  "  Take 
them,"  said  she,  "and  if  you  should  be  in  any  need,  use 
them." 

Next  day  the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hundred  set 
out  with  liis  servant  for  the  high  golden  mountain.  They 
climbed  and  climbed,  but  they  climbed  not  up  to  the  top; 
they  crawled  and  crawled,  but  they  crawled  not  up  to  the 
top. 

"Well,"  said  the  merchant,  "let's  have  a  drink  first  of  all." 
And  the  merchant  handed  him  a  sleeping  poison.  The  laborer 
drank  and  fell  asleep. 

The  merchant  drew  out  his  knife,  killed  his  wretched  nag 
which  he  had  brought  with  him,  took  out  its  entrails,  put 
the  young  man' into  the  horse's  stomach,  put  the  spade  in  too, 
sewed  up  the  wound,  and  went  and  hid  himself  among  the 
bushes. 

Suddenly  there  flew  down  a  whole  host  of  black  iron-beaked 
ravens.  They  took  up  the  carcass,  carried  it  up  into  the 
mountain,  and  fell  a-pecking  it ;  they  began  eating  up  the 
horse,  and  soon  pierced  right  down  to  the  merchant's  son. 
Then  he  awoke,  beat  off  the  black  crows,  looked  hither  and 
thither,  and  asked  himself,  "  Where  am  I  ?  " 

The  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hundred  bawled  up  at 
him,  "  On  the  golden  mountain  ;  come,  take  your  spade  and 
dig  gold." 

So  he  digged  and  digged,  throwing  it  all  down  below,  and 
the  merchant  put  it  on  wagons.  By  evening  he  had  filled 
nine  wagons. 

"That'll  do,"  cried  the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven 
hundred;  " thanks  for  your  labor.     Adieu  I  " 

"  But  how  about  me  ?  " 

"  You  may  get  on  as  best  you  can.  Ninety- nine  of  your 
sort  have  perished  on  that  mountain  —  you  will  just  make  up 
the  hundred  !  "     Thus  spake  the  merchant,  and  departed. 


RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES.  339 

"  What's  to  be  done  now  ?  "  thought  the  merchant's  son  : 
"  to  get  down  from  this  mountain  is  quite  impossible.  1  shall 
certainly  starve  to  death."  So  there  he  stood  on  the  mountain, 
and  above  him  wheeled  the  black  iron-beaked  crows:  the} 
plainly  scented  their  prey.  He  began  to  bethink  him  how  ail 
this  had  come  to  pass,  and  then  it  occurred  to  him  how  the 
lovely  damsel  had  taken  him  aside  and  given  him  the  flint  and 
steel,  and  said  to  him  herself,  "  Take  it,  and  if  you  are  in 
need  make  use  of  it." 

"  And  look  now,  she  did  not  say  it  in  vain.  Let  us  try 
it." 

The  merchant's  son  took  out  the  flint  and  steel,  struck  it 
once,  and  immediately  out  jumped  two  fair  young  heroes. 

"  What  do  you  want ?     What  do  you  want?  " 

"Take  me  from  this  mountain  to  the  sea-shore." 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  they  took  him  under  the 
arms  and  bore  him  carefully  down  from  the  mountain.  The 
merchant's  son  walked  about  by  the  shore  ;  and,  lo,  a  ship  was 
sailing  by  the  island. 

"  Hi,  good  ship  folk,  take  me  with  you!  " 

"  Nay,  brother,  we  cannot  stop :  such  a  stoppage  would  lose 
us  one  hundred  knots." 

The  mariners  passed  by  the  island:  contrary  winds  began 
to  blow,  a  frightful  hurricane  arose.  "Alas!  he  is  plainly  no 
simple  man  of  our  sort,  we  had  better  turn  back  and  take  him 
on  board  ship."  So  they  returned  to  the  island,  stopped  by 
the  shore,  took  up  the  merchant's  son,  and  conveyed  him  to  his 
native  town. 

A  long  time  and  a  little  time  passed  by,  and  then  the  mer- 
chant's son  took  his  spade  and  again  went  out  into  the  market 
place  to  wait  for  some  one  to  hire  him.  Again  the  merchant 
who  was  one  in  seven  hundred  passed  by  in  his  gilded  carriage; 
the  day  laborers  saw  him  and  scattered  in  every  direction,  and 
hid  them  in  corners.  The  merchant's  son  was  the  sole  solitary 
little  one  left. 

"  Will  you  take  hire  from  me  ?  "  said  the  merchant  who  was 
one  in  seven  hundred. 

"Willingly;  put  down  two  hundred  roubles  a  day,  and  set 
me  my  work." 

"  Rather  dear,  eh  ?  " 

"  If  you  find  it  dear,  go  and  seek  cheaper  labor.    You  saw  how 


340  RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES. 

many  people  were  here,  and  the  moment  you  appeared  they  all 
ran  away." 

"  Well,  then,  done;  come  to-morrow  to  the  haven." 

The  next  morning  they  met  at  the  haven,  went  on  board 
the  ship,  and  sailed  to  the  island.  There  they  ate  and  drank 
their  fill  one  whole  day,  and  the  next  day  they  got  up  and  went 
towards  the  golden  mountain. 

They  arrived  there;  the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven 
hundred  pulled  out  his  drinking  glass.  "Come  now,  let  ug 
have  a  drink  first,"  said  he. 

"Stop,  mine  host!  You  who  are  the  chief  ought  to  drink 
the  first:  let  me  treat  you  with  mine  own  drink."  And  the 
merchant's  son,  who  had  betimes  provided  himself  with  sleep- 
ing poison,  poured  out  a  full  glass  of  it  and  gave  it  to  the  mer- 
chant who  was  one  in  seven  hundred.  He  drank  it  off  and  fell 
into  a  sound  sleep. 

The  merchant's  son  slaughtered  the  sorriest  horse,  disem- 
boweled it,  laid  his  host  in  the  horse's  belly,  put  the  spade 
there  too,  sewed  up  the  wound,  and  went  and  hid  himself 
among  the  bushes.  Instantly  the  black  iron-beaked  crows  flew 
down,  took  up  the  carcass,  carried  it  to  the  mountain,  and  fell 
a-pecking  at  it.  The  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hundred 
awoke  and  looked  hither  and  thither.   "  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  On  the  mountain,"  bawled  the  merchant's  son.  "  Take 
your  spade  and  dig  gold;  if  you  dig  much,  I  will  show  you  how 
to  get  off  the  mountain." 

The  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hundred  took  his  spade 
and  dug  and  dug;  he  dug  up  twenty  wagon  loads. 

"  Stop,  that's  enough  now,"  said  the  merchant's  son;  "  thanks 
for  your  labor,  and  good-by." 

"  But  what  about  me  ?  " 

"  You  ?  why,  get  off  as  best  you  can.  Ninety-nine  of  your 
sort  have  perished  on  that  mountain,  you  can  make  up  the 
hundred." 

So  the  merchant's  son  took  all  the  twenty  wagons,  went  to 
the  golden  castle,  married  the  lovely  damsel,  the  daughter  of 
the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hundred,  took  possession 
of  all  her  riches,  and  came  to  live  in  the  capital  with  his  whole 
family. 

But  the  merchant  who  was  one  in  seven  hundred  remained 
there  on  the  mountain,  and  the  black  iron-beaked  crows  picked 
his  bones. 


RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES.  341 

Thb  Stobt  op  Gore-Gorinskoe  [Woepul  Woe]. 

There  once  lived  in  a  village  two  brothers,  one  of  whom  was 
rich,  and  the  other  poor.  With  the  rich  man  everything  went 
•wimmingly,  in  everything  he  laid  his  hand  to  he  found  luck 
and  bliss  ;  but  as  for  the  poor  man,  slave  and  toil  as  he  might, 
fortune  flew  away  from  him.  The  rich  man,  in  a  few  years,  so 
grew  out  of  bounds  that  he  went  to  live  in  the  town,  and  built 
him  the  biggest  house  there,  and  settled  down  as  a  merchant ; 
but  the  poor  man  got  into  such  straits  that  sometimes  he  had 
not  even  a  crust  of  bread  in  the  house  to  feed  a  whole  armful 
of  children,  small  —  smaller — smallest,  who  all  cried  together, 
and  begged  for  something  to  eat  and  drink. 

And  the  poor  man  began  to  repine  at  his  fate,  he  began  to 
lose  heart,  and  his  disheveled  head  began  to  sink  deeper  be- 
tween his  shoulders.  And  he  went  to  his  rich  brother  in  the 
town  and  said:  "  Help  me  !     I  am  quite  worn  out." 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  "  replied  the  rich  man.  "  We  can  well 
afford  it,  only  you  must  come  and  work  it  out  with  me  all  this 
week." 

"  Willingly,"  said  the  poor  man  ;  so  he  set  to  work,  swept 
out  the  yard,  curried  the  horses,  and  split  up  firewood.  At  the 
end  of  the  week  the  rich  brother  gave  him  a  grisenka  [five  cents] 
in  money  and  a  large  lump  of  bread.  "Thanks  even  for  that," 
said  the  poor  man,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  homewards, 
when  his  brother's  conscience  evidently  pricked  him,  and  he 
said,  "Why  dost  thou  slip  off  like  that?  To-morrow  is  my 
name  day  :  stay  and  feast  with  us. " 

And  the  poor  man  stayed  to  his  brother's  banquet.  But, 
unfortunately  for  him,  a  great  many  rich  guests  assembled  at 
his  brother's  —  men  of  renown;  and  these  guests  his  brother 
served  most  zealously,  bowing  down  low  before  them,  and  implor- 
ing them  as  a  favor  to  be  so  good  as  to  eat  and  drink  their  fill. 
But  he  forgot  altogether  about  his  poor  brother,  who  could  only 
look  on  from  afar,  and  see  all  the  good  people  eating  and  drink- 
ing, and  enjoying  themselves,  and  making  merry. 

At  last  the  banquet  was  over,  the  guests  arose,  they  began 
to  thank  the  host  and  hostess,  and  the  poor  man  also  bowed  to 
his  very  girdle.  The  guests  also  went  home,  and  very  merry 
they  all  were  ;  they  laughed,  and  joked,  and  sang  songs  all  the 
way.  And  the  poor  man  went  home  as  hungry  as  ever,  and  he 
thought  to  himself,  "  Come,  now,  I  will  sing  a  song  too,  so  that 


342  RUSSIAN   FAIRY   TALES. 

people  may  think  that  I  too  was  not  overlooked  or  passed  over 
on  my  brother's  name  day,  but  ate  to  surfeit,  and  drank  myself 
drunk  with  the  best  of  them." 

And  so  the  peasant  began  singing  a  song,  but  suddenly  his 
voice  died  away.  He  heard  quite  plainly  that  some  one  behind 
his  back  was  imitating  his  song  in  a  thin  piping  voice.  He 
stopped  short,  and  the  voice  stopped  short ;  he  went  on  singing, 
and  again  the  voice  imitated  him. 

"  Who  is  that  singing  ?  come  forth  !  "  shrieked  the  poor 
man,  and  he  saw  before  him  a  monster,  all  shriveled  up  and  yel- 
low, with  scarcely  any  life  in  it,  huddled  up  in  rags,  and  girded 
about  with  the  same  vile  rags,  and  its  feet  wound  round  with 
linden  bast.  The  peasant  was  quite  petrified  with  horror,  and 
he  said  to  the  monster,  "  Who  art  thou  ?  " 

"  I  am  Gore-Gorinskoe ;  I  have  compassion  on  thee ;  I  will 
help  thee  to  sing." 

"  Well,  Gore,  let  us  go  together  through  the  wide  world 
arm  in  arm.  I  see  that  I  shall  find  no  other  friends  and  kins- 
men there." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,  master  ;  I  will  never  desert  thee." 

"And  on  what  shall  we  go,  then  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  what  you  are  going  upon,  but  I  will  go  upon 
you,"  and  flop  !  in  an  instant  he  was  on  the  peasant's  shoulders. 
The  peasant  had  not  strength  enough  to  shake  him  off.  And 
so  the  peasant  went  on  his  way,  carrying  Woeful  Woe  on  his 
shoulders,  though  he  was  scarce  able  to  drag  one  leg  after  the 
other,  and  the  monster  was  singing  all  the  time,  and  beating 
time  to  it,  and  driving  him  along  with  his  little  stick.  "  I  say, 
master,  wouldst  thou  like  me  to  teach  thee  my  favorite  song  ?  — 

" '  I  am  Woe,  the  woefully  woeful ! 
Girt  about  with  linden  bast  rags, 
Shod  with  beggars'  buskins,  bark  stript. 
Live  with  me,  then ;  live  with  Woe, 
And  sorrow  never  know. 
If  you  say  you  have  no  money, 
You  can  always  raise  it,  honey ; 
Yet  provide  a  hard-won  penny 
'Gainst  the  day  thou'lt  not  have  any.' 

And  besides,"  added  Woe,  "thou  already  hast  this  penny 
against  an  evil  day,  besides  a  crust  of  bread  j  let  us  then  go 
on  our  way,  and  drink  and  be  merry." 


RUSSIAN    FAIRY   TALES.  343 

So  they  went  on  and  on,  and  drank  and  drank,  and  so  they 
got  home.  There  sat  the  wife  and  all  the  children,  without 
food,  weeping,  but  Woe  set  the  peasant  a-dancing. 

On  the  following  day  Woe  began  to  sigh,  and  said,  "  My 
head  aches  from  drinking !  "  and  again  he  called  upon  the 
master  to  drink  a  thimbleful. 

"  I  have  no  money,"  said  the  peasant. 

"  But  didn't  I  tell  thee  thou  canst  always  raise  it,  honey  ? 
Pawn  thy  harrow  and  plow,  sledge  and  cart,  and  let  us 
drink  ;  we'll  have  a  rare  time  of  it  to-day,  at  any  rate. " 

What  could  he  do?  The  peasant  could  not  rid  himself  of 
Woe,  so  painfully  tight  did  he  sit  upon  hiin  by  this  time  ;  so 
he  let  himself  be  dragged  about  by  Woe,  and  drank  and  idled 
away  the  whole  day.  And  on  the  next  day  Woe  groaned  still 
more,  and  even  began  howling,  and  said,  ''  Come,  let  us  saunter 
about ;  let  us  drink  away  everything  and  pawn  it.  Sell  thyself 
into  slavery,  and  so  get  money  to  drink  with." 

The  peasant  saw  that  ruin  was  approaching  him,  so  he 
had  resort  to  subtlety ;  and  he  said  to  Woeful  Woe,  "  I  have 
heard  our  old  men  say  that  a  treasure  was  buried  about  here 
a  long  time  ago,  but  it  was  buried  beneath  such  heavy  stones 
that  my  single  strength  would  be  quite  unable  to  raise  it ; 
now,  if  only  we  could  raise  this  treasure,  darling  little  Woe, 
what  a  fine  time  of  loafing  and  di'inking  we  should  have 
together  !  " 

"  Come,  then,  and  let  us  raise  it ;  Woe  has  strength  enough 
for  everything." 

So  they  went  all  about  the  place,  and  they  came  to  a  very 
large  and  heavy  stone :  five  peasants  together  could  not  have 
moved  it  from  the  spot,  but  our  friend  and  Woe  lifted  it  up  at 
the  first  go.  And  lo !  beneath  the  stone  there  was  indeed  a 
coffer  dark  and  heavy,  and  at  the  very  bottom  of  this  coffer 
something  was  sparkling.  And  the  peasant  said  to  Woe,  "  You 
just  creep  into  the  coffer  and  get  out  the  gold,  and  I'll  stand 
here  and  hold  up  the  stone." 

So  Woe  crept  into  the  coffer  with  great  glee,  and  cried  out: 
"  Hi,  master,  here  are  riches  incalculable  !  Twenty  jars  choke- 
full  of  gold,  all  standing  one  beside  the  other  !  "  and  he  handed 
up  to  the  peasant  one  of  the  jars. 

The  peasant  took  the  jar  into  his  lap,  and,  as  at  the  same 
time  he  let  the  stone  fall  back  into  its  old  place,  he  shut  up 
Woeful  Woe  in  the  coffer  with  all  the  gold.     '  Perish  thou 


344  RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES. 

and  thy  riches  with  thee  !  "  thought  the  peasant ;  "  no  good 
luck  goes  along  with  thee." 

And  he  went  home  to  his  own,  and  with  the  money  he  got 
from  the  jar  he  bought  wood,  repaired  his  cottage,  added  live 
stock  to  his  possessions,  and  worked  harder  than  ever,  and  he 
began  to  engage  in  trade,  and  it  went  well  with  him.  In  a 
single  year  he  grew  so  much  richer  that  in  place  of  his  hut  he 
built  him  a  large  wooden  house.  And  then  he  went  to  town 
to  invite  his  brother  and  his  wife  to  the  house  warming. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  said  his  rich  brother,  with  a 
scornful  smile.  "  A  little  while  ago  you  were  naked,  and  had 
nothing  to  eat,  and  now  you  are  giving  house  warmings,  and 
laying  out  banquets  !  " 

"  Well,  at  one  time,  certainly,  I  had  nothing  to  eat,  but  now, 
thank  God,  I  am  no  worse  off  than  you.     Come  and  see." 

The  next  day  the  rich  brother  went  out  into  the  country  to 
his  poor  brother,  and  there  on  the  pebbly  plain  he  saw  wooden 
buildings,  all  new  and  lofty,  such  as  not  every  town  merchant 
can  boast  of.  And  the  poor  brother  who  dwelt  on  the  pebbles 
fed  the  rich  brother  till  he  could  eat  no  more,  and  made  him 
drink  his  fill ;  and  after  that,  when  the  strings  of  his  tongue 
were  loosened,  he  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  told  his  brother 
how  he  had  grown  so  rich. 

Envy  overcame  the  rich  brother.  He  thought  to  himself, 
"  This  brother  of  mine  is  a  fool.  Out  of  twenty  kegs  he  only 
took  one.  With  all  that  money,  Woe  itself  is  not  terrible. 
I'll  go  there  myself,  I'll  take  away  the  stone,  take  the  money, 
and  let  Woe  out  from  beneath  the  stone.  Let  him  hound  my 
brother  to  death  if  he  likes." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  The  rich  man  took  leave  of  his 
brother  ;  but  instead  of  going  home  he  went  to  the  stone.  He 
pulled  and  tugged  at  it,  and  managed  at  last  to  push  it  a  little 
to  one  side,  so  as  to  be  able  to  peep  into  the  coffer ;  but 
before  he  could  pull  his  head  back  again.  Woe  had  already 
skipped  out,  and  was  sitting  on  his  neck.  Our  rich  man  felt 
the  grievous  burden  on  his  shoulders,  looked  round,  and  saw 
the  frightful  monster  bestriding  him.  And  Woe  shrieked  in 
his  ear,  "  A  pretty  fellow  you  are  !  You  wanted  to  starve  me 
to  death  in  there,  did  you  ?  You  shall  not  shake  me  off  again 
in  a  hurry,  I  warrant  you.     I'll  never  leave  you  again." 

"  Oh,  senseless  Woe  !  "  cried  the  rich  man,  "  indeed  'twas 
not  I  who  placed  you  beneath  that  stone,  and  'tis  not  me,  the 


RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES.  345 

rich  man,  you  should  cleave  to ;  go  hence,  and  torment  my 
brother." 

But  Woeful  Woe  would  not  listen  to  him.  "No,"  it 
screeched,  "  you  lie !  You  deceived  me  once,  but  you  shan't 
do  it  a  second  time." 

And  so  the  rich  man  carried  Woe  home  with  him,  and  all 
his  wealth  turned  to  dust  and  ashes.  But  the  poor  brother 
now  lives  in  peace  and  plenty,  and  sings  jesting  ditties  of  Woe 
the  outwitted. 

The  Woman  Accusek. 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  an  old  man  and  an  old  woman. 
The  old  woman  was  not  a  bad  old  woman,  but  there  was  this 
one  bad  thing  about  her  —  she  did  not  know  how  to  hold  her 
tongue.  Whatever  she  might  hear  from  her  husband,  or  what- 
ever might  happen  at  home,  she  was  sure  to  spread  it  over  the 
whole  village ;  she  even  doubled  everything  in  the  telling,  and 
so  things  were  told  which  never  happened  at  all.  Not  unfre- 
quently  the  old  man  had  to  chastise  the  old  woman,  and  her 
back  paid  for  the  faults  of  her  tongue. 

One  day  the  old  man  went  into  the  forest  for  wood.  He 
had  just  got  to  the  border  of  the  forest,  when  his  foot,  in  tread- 
ing on  a  certain  place,  sank  right  into  the  ground.  "  Why, 
what's  this?  "  thought  the  old  man.  "Come,  now,  I'll  dig  a 
bit  here  ;  maybe  I  shall  be  lucky  enough  to  dig  out  something." 
He  dug  several  times,  and  saw,  buried  in  the  ground,  a  little 
caldron  quite  full  of  silver  and  gold.  "  Look,  now,  what  good 
luck  has  befallen  me !  But  what  am  I  to  do  with  it  ?  I  cannot 
hide  it  from  that  good  wife  of  mine  at  home,  and  she  will  be 
sure  to  blab  to  all  the  world  about  my  lucky  find,  and  thou 
wilt  repent  the  day  thou  didst  ever  see  it." 

For  a  long  time  the  old  man  sat  brooding  over  his  treasure, 
and  at  last  he  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  He  buried  the 
treasure,  threw  a  lot  of  wood  over  it,  and  went  to  town.  There 
he  bought  at  the  bazaar  a  live  pike  and  a  live  hare,  returned  to 
the  wood,  and  hung  the  pike  upon  a  tree,  at  the  very  top  of  it ; 
and  carried  the  hare  to  the  stream,  where  he  had  a  fish  basket, 
and  he  put  the  hare  into  it  in  a  shallow  place. 

Then  he  went  off  home,  whipped  up  his  little  nag  for  pure 
lightness  of  heart,  and  so  entered  his  hut.  "Wife,  wife,"  he 
cried,  "  such  a  piece  of  luck  has  befallen  me  that  I  cannot  de- 
scribe it  1  " 


346  RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES. 

"  What  is  it,  what  is  it,  hubby  darling  ?  Why  dost  thou  not 
tell  me?" 

"  What's  the  good,  when  thou  wilt  only  blab  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  On  my  word,  I'll  say  nothing  to  anybody.  I  swear  it. 
I'll  take  the  holy  image  from  the  wall  and  kiss  it  if  thou  dost 
not  believe  me." 

"  Well,  well,  all  right.  Listen,  old  woman  !  "  and  he  bent 
down  towards  her  ear  and  whispered,  "  I  have  found  in  the  wood 
a  caldron  full  of  silver  and  gold." 

"  Then  why  didst  thou  not  bring  it  hither  ?  " 

"  Because  we  had  both  better  go  together,  and  so  bring  it 
home."  And  the  old  man  went  with  his  old  woman  to  the 
forest. 

They  went  along  the  road,  and  the  peasant  said  to  his  wife, 
"  From  what  I  hear,  old  woman,  and  from  what  people  told  me 
the  other  day,  it  would  seem  that  fish  are  now  to  be  found 
growing  on  trees,  while  the  beasts  of  the  forest  live  in  the 
water." 

"  Why,  what  art  thou  thinking  about,  little  hubby  ?  People 
nowadays  are  much  given  to  lying." 

"  Lying,  dost  thou  call  it  ?  Then  come  and  see  for  thyself." 
And  he  pointed  to  the  tree  where  the  pike  was  hanging. 

"  Why,  what  marvel  is  this  ? "  screamed  the  old  woman. 
"  However  did  that  pike  get  there  ?  Or  have  the  people  been 
speaking  the  truth  to  thee  after  all  ?  " 

But  the  peasant  stood  there,  and  moved  his  arras  about,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  he  could  not 
believe  his  own  eyes. 

"  Why  dost  thou  keep  standing  there  ?  "  said  the  old  woman. 
"  Go  up  the  tree,  rather,  and  take  the  pike  ;  'twill  do  for 
supper." 

So  the  peasant  took  the  pike,  and  then  they  went  on  further. 
They  passed  by  the  stream,  and  the  peasant  stopped  his  horse. 
But  his  wife  began  screeching  at  him,  and  said,  "What  art 
gaping  at  now?  let  us  make  haste  and  go  on." 

"  Nay,  but  look  !  I  see  something  struggling  about  all  round 
my  fish  basket.  I'll  go  and  see  what  it  is."  So  he  ran,  looked 
into  the  fish  basket,  and  called  to  his  wife.  "  Just  come  and 
look  here,  old  woman  !  Why,  a  hare  has  got  into  our  fishing 
basket !  " 

"Then  people  must  have  told  thee  the  truth  after  all. 
Fetch  it  out  quickly  ;    it  will  do  for  dinner  on  the  feast  day." 


RUSSIAN   FAIRY  TALES.  347 

The  old  man  took  up  the  hare,  and  then  went  straight  to- 
wards the  treasure.  He  pitched  away  the  wood,  digged  wide 
and  deep,  dragged  the  caldron  out  of  the  earth,  and  they  took 
it  home. 

The  old  man  and  the  old  woman  grew  rich,  they  lived  right 
merrily,  and  the  old  woman  did  not  improve  ;  she  went  to 
invite  guests  every  day,  and  gave  such  banquets  that  she  nearly 
drove  her  husband  out  of  the  house.  The  old  man  tried  to 
correct  her.  "  What's  come  to  thee  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Canst  thou 
not  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  order  me  about,"  said  she.  "  I  found  the  treasure 
as  well  as  thou,  and  have  as  much  right  to  make  merry  with  it." 

The  old  man  put  up  with  it  for  a  very  long  time,  but  at  last 
he  said  to  the  old  woman  straight  out,  "  Do  as  best  thou  canst, 
but  I'm  not  going  to  give  thee  any  more  money  to  cast  to  the 
winds." 

But  the  old  woman  immediately  fell  foul  of  him.  "  I  see 
what  thou  art  up  to,"  screeched  she  ;  "  thou  wouldst  keep  all 
the  money  for  thyself.  No,  thou  rogue,  I'll  drive  thee  whither 
the  crows  will  pick  thy  bones.  Thou  wilt  have  no  good  from 
thy  money." 

The  old  man  would  have  chastised  her,  but  the  old  woman 
thrust  him  aside,  and  went  straight  to  the  magistrate  to  lay  a 
complaint  against  her  husband.  "  I  have  come  to  throw  my- 
self on  thy  honor's  compassion,  and  to  present  my  petition 
against  my  good-for-nothing  husband.  Ever  since  he  found 
that  treasure  there  is  no  living  with  him.  Work  he  won't,  and 
he  spends  all  his  time  in  drinking  and  gadding  about.  Take 
away  all  his  gold  from  him,  father.  What  a  vile  thing  is  gold 
when  it  ruins  a  man  so  !  " 

The  magistrate  was  sorry  for  the  old  woman,  and  he  sent 
his  eldest  clerk  to  him,  and  bade  him  judge  between  the  hus- 
band and  wife.  The  clerk  assembled  all  the  village  elders,  and 
went  to  the  peasant  and  said  to  him,  "  The  magistrate  has  sent 
me  to  thee,  and  bids  thee  deliver  up  all  thy  treasure  into  my 
hands." 

The  peasant  only  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  treasure  ?  " 
said  he.      "  I  know  nothing  whatever  about  any  treasure." 

"  Not  know  ?  Why,  thy  old  woman  has  just  been  to  com- 
plain to  the  magistrate,  and  I  tell  thee  what,  friend,  if  thou 
deniest  it,  'twill  be  worse  for  thee.  If  thou  dost  not  give  up 
the  whole  treasure  to  the  magistrate,  thou  must  give  an  account 


348  RUSSIAN  FAIRY  TALES. 

of  thyself  for  daring  to  search  for  treasures,  and  not  revealing 
them  to  the  authorities." 

"  But  I  cry  your  pardon,  honored  sirs  !  what  i$  this  treas- 
ure you  are  talking  of  ?  My  wife  must  have  seen  this  treasure 
in  her  sleep  ;  she  has  told  you  a  pack  of  nonsense,  and  you 
listen  to  her." 

*'  Nonsense  !  "  burst  forth  the  old  woman  ;  "  it  is  not  non- 
sense, but  a  whole  caldron  full  of  gold  and  silver  !  " 

"Thou  art  out  of  thy  senses,  dear  wife.  Honored  sirs,  I 
cry  your  pardon.  Cross-examine  her  thoroughly  about  the 
affair,  and  if  she  proves  this  thing  against  me,  I  will  answer  for 
it  with  all  my  goods." 

"  And  dost  thou  think  that  I  cannot  prove  it  against  thee  ? 
Thou  rascal,  I  will  prove  it.  This  is  how  the  matter  went,  Mr. 
Clerk,"  began  the  old  woman  ;  "  I  remember  it,  every  bit.  We 
went  to  the  forest,  and  we  saw  a  pike  on  a  tree." 

"  A  pike  ?  "  roared  the  clerk  at  the  old  woman  ;  "  or  dost 
thou  want  to  make  a  fool  of  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  am  not  making  a  fool  of  thee,  Mr.  Clerk  ;  I  am 
speaking  the  simple  truth." 

"There,  honored  sirs,"  said  the  old  man,  "how  can  you 
believe  her  if  she  goes  on  talking  such  rubbish  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  talking  rubbish,  yokel !  I  am  speaking  the  truth 
—  or  hast  thou  forgotten  how  we  found  a  hare  in  thy  fishing 
basket  in  the  stream  ?  " 

All  the  elders  rolled  about  for  laughter  ;  even  the  clerk 
smiled,  and  began  to  stroke  down  his  long  beard.  The  peasant 
again  said  to  his  wife,  "  Recollect  thyself,  old  woman  :  dost 
thou  not  see  that  every  one  is  laughing  at  thee  ?  But  ye,  hon- 
ored gentlemen,  can  now  see  for  yourselves  how  far  you  can 
believe  my  wife." 

"Yes,"  cried  all  the  elders,  with  one  voice,  "long  as  we 
have  lived  in  the  world,  we  have  never  heard  of  hares  living  in 
rivers,  and  fish  hanging  on  the  trees  of  the  forest."  The  clerk 
himself  saw  that  this  was  a  matter  he  could  not  get  to  the 
bottom  of,  so  he  dismissed  the  assembly  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  and  went  off  to  town  to  the  magistrate. 

And  everybody  laughed  so  much  at  the  old  woman  that  she 
was  forced  to  bite  her  own  tongue  and  listen  to  her  husband  ; 
and  the  husband  bought  wares  with  his  treasure,  went  to  live 
in  the  town,  and  began  to  trade  there,  exchanged  his  wares  for 
money,  grew  rich  and  prosperous,  and  was  as  happy  as  the  day 
was  long. 


GREEK   MYTHS.  349 

GREEK   MYTHS. 

By  JOHN  RUSKIN. 

(From  «'  The  Queen  of  the  Air.") 

[JohnRuskin  :  English  critic  and  essayist ;  bom  at  London,  February  8,  1819. 
In  1839  he  took  the  Newdigate  prize  for  a  poem.  During  his  Oxford  days  he 
published  many  verses  over  the  signature  "  J.  R."  In  1850  his  poems  were  col- 
lected and  privately  printed.  A  reprint  was  made  of  them  in  New  York  in  1882. 
He  studied  art,  but  rather  for  the  purposes  of  criticism.  In  1843  appeared  the 
first  part  of  "Modem  Painters,"  which  was  a  vehement  eulogy  of  J.  M.  W. 
Turner;  the  last  volume  in  1856.  "The  Seven  Lamps  of  -Architecture,"  1849, 
and  "  The  Stones  of  Venice,"  1851-1853,  are  his  best-known  works.  Among  his 
popular  lectures  have  been  "  Munera  Pulveris,"  1862-1863  ;  "  Sesame  and  Lilies," 
1865  ;  "  Crown  of  Wild  Olive,"  1866  ;  and  "  The  Queen  of  the  Air,"  1869.  His 
works  include  dozens  of  other  titles  on  artistic,  social,  and  economic  subjects. 
His  "  Praeterita,"  1885,  is  autobiographical.] 

1.  I  "WILL  not  ask  your  pardon  for  endeavoring  to  interest 
you  in  the  subject  of  Greek  Mythology  ;  but  I  must  ask  your 
permission  to  approach  it  in  a  temper  differing  from  that  in 
which  it  is  frequently  treated.  We  cannot  justly  interpret  the 
religion  of  any  people,  unless  we  are  prepared  to  admit  that  we 
ourselves,  as  well  as  they,  are  liable  to  error  in  matters  of 
faith ;  and  that  the  convictions  of  others,  however  singular, 
may  in  some  points  have  been  well  founded ;  while  our  own, 
however  reasonable,  may  in  some  particulars  be  mistaken.  You 
must  forgive  me,  therefore,  for  not  always  distinctively  calling 
the  creeds  of  the  past  "  superstition,"  and  the  creeds  of  the  pres- 
ent day  "religion"  ;  as  well  as  for  assuming  that  a  faith  now 
confessed  may  sometimes  be  superficial,  and  that  a  faith  long 
forgotten  may  once  have  been  sincere.  It  is  the  task  of  the 
Divine  to  condemn  the  errors  of  antiquity,  and  of  the  philolo- 
gists to  account  for  them  ;  I  will  only  pray  you  to  read,  with 
patience,  and  human  sympathy,  the  thoughts  of  men  who  lived 
without  blame  in  a  darkness  they  could  not  dispel ;  and  to 
remember  that,  whatever  charge  of  folly  may  justly  attach  to 
the  saying,  "There  is  no  God,"  the  folly  is  prouder,  deeper, 
and  less  pardonable,  in  saying,  "There  is  no  God  but  for  me." 

2.  A  myth,  in  its  simplest  definition,  is  a  story  with  a  mean- 
ing attached  to  it  other  than  it  seems  to  have  at  first ;  and  the 
fact  that  it  has  such  a  meaning  is  generally  marked  by  some  of 
its  circumstances  being  extraordinary,  or,  in  the  common  use 
of  the  word,  unnatural.     Thus  if  I  tell  you  that  Hercules  killed 


350  grep:k  myths. 

a  water  serpent  in  the  lake  of  Lerna,  and  if  I  mean,  and  you 
understand,  nothing  more  than  that  fact,  the  story,  whether 
true  or  false,  is  not  a  myth.  But  if  by  telling  you  this,  I  mean 
that  Hercules  purified  the  stagnation  of  many  streams  from 
deadly  miasmata,  my  story,  however  simple,  is  a  true  myth  ; 
only,  as,  if  I  left  it  in  that  simplicity,  you  would  probably  look 
for  nothing  beyond,  it  will  be  wise  in  me  to  surprise  your 
attention  by  adding  some  singular  circumstance  ;  for  instance, 
that  the  water  snake  had  several  heads,  which  revived  as  fast 
as  they  were  killed,  and  which  poisoned  even  the  foot  that  trod 
upon  them  as  they  slept.  And  in  proportion  to  the  fullness  of 
intended  meaning  I  shall  probably  multiply  and  refine  upon 
these  improbabilities  ;  as,  suppose,  if,  instead  of  desiring  only 
to  tell  you  that  Hercules  purified  a  marsh,  I  wished  you  to 
understand  that  he  contended  with  the  venom  and  vapor  of 
envy  and  evil  ambition,  whether  in  other  men's  souls  or  in  his 
own,  and  choked  that  malaria  only  by  supreme  toil,  —  I  might 
tell  you  that  this  serpent  was  formed  by  the  goddess  whose 
pride  was  in  the  trial  of  Hercules  ;  and  that  its  place  of  abode 
was  by  a  palm  tree ;  and  that  for  every  head  of  it  that  was  cut 
off,  two  rose  up  with  renewed  life ;  and  that  the  hero  found  at 
last  he  could  not  kill  the  creature  at  all  by  cutting  its  heads 
off  or  crushing  them,  but  only  by  burning  them  down ;  and 
that  the  midmost  of  them  could  not  be  killed  even  that  way, 
but  had  to  be  buried  alive.  Only  in  proportion  as  I  mean 
more,  I  shall  certainly  appear  more  absurd  in  my  statement ; 
and  at  last  when  I  get  unendurably  significant,  all  practical 
persons  will  agree  that  I  was  talking  mere  nonsense  from  the 
beginning,  and  never  meant  anything  at  all. 

3.  It  is  just  possible,  however,  also,  that  the  story-teller 
may  all  along  have  meant  nothing  but  what  he  said  ;  and  that, 
incredible  as  the  events  may  appear,  he  himself  literally  be- 
lieved —  and  expected  you  also  to  believe  —  all  this  about  Her- 
cules, without  any  latent  moral  or  history  whatever.  And  it 
is  very  necessary,  in  reading  traditions  of  this  kind,  to  deter- 
mine, first  of  all,  whether  you  are  listening  to  a  simple  person, 
who  is  relating  what,  at  all  events,  he  believes  to  be  true  (and 
may,  therefore,  possibly  have  been  so  to  some  extent),  or  to  a 
reserved  philosopher,  who  is  veiling  a  theory  of  the  universe 
under  the  grotesque  of  a  fairy  tale.  It  is,  in  general,  more 
likely  that  the  first  supposition  should  be  the  right  one  :  simple 
and  credulous  persons  are,  perhaps  fortunately,  more  common 


GREEK  MYTHS.  351 

than  philosophers  ;  and  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  that  you 
should  take  their  innocent  testimony  as  it  was  meant,  and  not 
efface,  under  the  graceful  explanation  which  your  cultivated 
ingenuity  may  suggest,  either  the  evidence  their  story  may 
contain  (such  as  it  is  worth)  of  an  extraordinary  event  having 
really  taken  place,  or  the  unquestionable  light  which  it  will  cast 
upon  the  character  of  the  person  by  whom  it  was  frankly 
believed.  And  to  deal  with  Greek  religion  honestly,  you  must 
at  once  understand  that  this  literal  belief  was,  in  the  mind  of 
the  general  people,  as  deeply  rooted  as  ours  in  the  legends  of 
our  own  sacred  book  ;  and  that  a  basis  of  unmiraculous  event 
was  as  little  suspected,  and  an  explanatory  symbolism  as  rarely 
traced,  by  them,  as  by  us. 

You  must,  therefore,  observe  that  I  deeply  degrade  the 
position  which  such  a  myth  as  that  just  referred  to  occupied 
in  the  Greek  mind,  by  comparing  it  (for  fear  of  offending  you) 
to  our  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon.  Still,  the  analogy 
is  perfect  in  minor  respects  ;  and  though  it  fails  to  give  you 
any  notion  of  the  vitally  religious  earnestness  of  the  Greek 
faith,  it  will  exactly  illustrate  the  manner  in  which  faith  laid 
hold  of  its  objects. 

4.  This  story  of  Hercules  and  the  Hydra,  then,  was  to  the 
general  Greek  mind,  in  its  best  days,  a  tale  about  a  real  hero 
and  a  real  monster.  Not  one  in  a  thousand  knew  anything  of 
the  way  in  which  the  story  had  arisen,  any  more  than  the  Eng- 
lish peasant  generally  is  aware  of  the  plebeian  original  of  St. 
George  ;  or  supposes  that  there  were  once  alive  in  the  world, 
with  sharp  teeth  and  claws,  real,  and  very  ugly,  flying  dragons. 
On  the  other  hand,  few  persons  traced  any  moral  or  symbolical 
meaning  in  the  story,  and  the  average  Greek  was  as  far  from 
imagining  any  interpretation  like  that  I  have  just  given  you,  as 
an  average  Englishman  is  from  seeing  in  St.  George  the  Red 
Cross  Knight  of  Spenser,  or  in  the  Dragon  the  Spirit  of  Infidel- 
ity. But,  for  all  that,  there  was  a  certain  undercurrent  of  con- 
sciousness in  all  minds  that  the  figures  meant  more  than  they 
at  first  showed  ;  and,  according  to  each  man's  own  faculties  of 
sentiment,  he  judged  and  read  them  ;  just  as  a  Knight  of  the 
Garter  reads  more  in  the  jewel  on  his  collar  than  the  George 
and  Dragon  of  a  public  house  expresses  to  the  host  or  to  his 
customers.  Thus,  to  the  mean  person  the  myth  always  meant 
little  ;  to  the  noble  person,  much  ;  and  the  greater  their  famil- 
iarity with  it,  the  more  contemptible  it  became  to  one,  and  the 


352  GREEK  MYTHS. 

more  sacred  to  the  other  ;  until  vulgar  commentators  explained 
it  entirely  away,  while  Virgil  made  it  the  crowning  glory  of  his 
choral  hymn  to  Hercules. 

Around  thee,  powerless  to  infect  thy  soul, 
Rose,  in  his  crested  crowd,  the  Lerna  worm. 

Non  te  rationis  egentem 
Lernseus  turb§.  capitum  circumstetit  anguis. 

And  although,  in  any  special  toil  of  the  hero's  life,  the  moral 
interpretation  was  rarely  with  definiteness  attached  to  its  event, 
yet  in  the  whole  course  of  the  life,  not  only  a  symbolical  mean- 
ing, but  the  warrant  for  the  existence  of  a  real  spiritual  power, 
was  apprehended  of  all  men.  Hercules  was  no  dead  hero,  to  be 
remembered  only  as  a  victor  over  monsters  of  the  past  —  harm- 
less now  as  slain.  He  was  the  perpetual  type  and  mirror  of 
heroism,  and  its  present  and  living  aid  against  every  ravenous 
form  of  human  trial  and  pain. 

5.  But,  if  we  seek  to  know  more  than  this  and  to  ascertain 
the  manner  in  which  the  story  first  crystallized  into  its  shape, 
we  shall  find  ourselves  led  back  generally  to  one  or  other  of 
two  sources  —  either  to  actual  historical  events,  represented  by 
the  fancy  under  figures  personifying  them  ;  or  else  to  natural 
phenomena  similarly  endowed  with  life  by  the  imaginative 
power  usually  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  terror.  The 
historical  myths  we  must  leave  the  masters  of  history  to  follow  ; 
they,  and  the  events  they  record,  being  yet  involved  in  great, 
though  attractive  and  penetrable,  mystery.  But  the  stars,  and 
hills,  and  storms  are  with  us  now,  as  they  were  with  others  of 
old  ;  and  it  only  needs  that  we  look  at  them  with  the  earnest- 
ness of  those  childish  eyes  to  understand  the  first  words  spoken 
of  them  by  the  children  of  men,  and  then,  in  all  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  enduring  myths,  we  shall  find,  not  only  a  literal  story 
of  a  real  person,  not  only  a  parallel  imagery  of  moral  principle, 
but  an  underlying  worship  of  natural  phenomena,  out  of  which 
both  have  sprung,  and  in  which  both  forever  remain  rooted. 
Thus,  from  the  real  sun,  rising  and  setting,  —  from  the  real 
atmosphere,  calm  in  its  dominion  of  unfading  blue,  and  fierce  in 
its  descent  of  tempest, — the  Greek  forms  first  the  idea  of  two 
entirely  personal  and  corporeal  gods,  whose  limbs  are  clothed  in 
divine  flesh,  and  whose  brows  are  crowned  with  divine  beauty ; 
yet  so  real  that  the  quiver  rattles  at  their  shoulder,  and  the 


GREEK  MYTHS.  353 

chariot  bends  beneath  their  weight.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
collaterally  with  these  corporeal  images,  and  never  for  one 
instant  separated  from  them,  he  conceives  also  two  omnipresent 
spiritual  influences,  of  which  one  illuminates,  as  the  sun,  with 
a  constant  fire,  whatever  in  humanity  is  skillful  and  wise ;  and 
the  other,  like  the  living  air,  breathes  the  calm  of  heavenly 
fortitude,  and  strength  of  righteous  anger,  into  every  human 
breast  that  is  pure  and  brave. 

6.  Now,  therefore,  in  nearly  every  myth  of  importance,  you 
have  to  discern  these  three  structural  parts,  —  the  root  and  the 
two  branches  :  the  root,  in  physical  existence,  sun,  or  sky,  or 
cloud,  or  sea ;  then  the  personal  incarnation  of  that,  becoming 
a  trusted  and  companionable  deity,  with  whom  you  may  walk 
hand  in  hand,  as  a  child  with  its  brother  or  its  sister ;  and, 
lastly,  the  moral  significance  of  the  image,  which  is  in  all  the 
great  myths  eternally  and  beneficently  true. 

7.  The  great  myths ;  that  is  to  say,  myths  made  by  great 
people.  For  the  first  plain  fact  about  myth  making  is  one 
which  has  been  most  strangely  lost  sight  of,  —  that  you  cannot 
make  a  myth  unless  you  have  something  to  make  it  of.  You 
cannot  tell  a  secret  which  you  don't  know.  If  the  myth  is 
about  the  sky,  it  must  have  been  made  by  somebody  who  had 
looked  at  the  sky.  If  the  myth  is  about  justice  and  fortitude, 
it  must  have  been  made  by  some  one  who  knew  what  it  was 
to  be  just  or  patient.  According  to  the  quantity  of  under- 
standing in  the  person  will  be  the  quantity  of  significance  in 
his  fable  ;  and  the  myth  of  a  simple  and  ignorant  race  must 
necessarily  mean  little,  because  a  simple  and  ignorant  race  have 
little  to  mean.  So  the  great  question  in  reading  a  story  is 
always,  not  what  wild  hunter  dreamed,  or  what  childish  race 
first  dreaded  it ;  but  what  wise  man  first  perfectly  told,  and 
what  strong  people  first  perfectly  lived  by  it.  And  the  real 
meaning  of  any  myth  is  that  which  it  has  at  the  noblest  age  of 
the  nation  among  whom  it  is  current.  The  farther  back  you 
pierce,  the  less  significance  you  will  find,  until  you  come  to  the 
first  narrow  thought,  which,  indeed,  contains  the  germ  of  the 
accomplished  tradition;  but  only  as  the  seed  contains  the  flower. 
As  the  intelligence  and  passion  of  the  race  develop,  they  cling 
to  and  nourish  their  beloved  and  sacred  legend  ;  leaf  by  leaf  it 
expands  under  the  touch  of  more  pure  affections,  and  more 
delicate  imagination,  until  at  last  the  perfect  fable  bourgeons 
out  into  symmetry  of  milky  stem  and  honeyed  bell. 


S54  GREEK   MYTHS. 

8.  But  through  whatever  changes  it  may  pass,  remember 
that  our  right  reading  of  it  is  wholly  dependent  on  the  mate- 
rials we  have  in  our  own  minds  for  an  intelligent  answering 
sympathy.  If  it  first  arose  among  a  people  who  dwelt  under 
stainless  skies,  and  measured  their  journeys  by  ascending  and 
declining  stars,  we  certainly  cannot  read  their  story,  if  we  have 
never  seen  anything  above  us  in  the  day  but  smoke,  nor  any- 
thing around  us  in  the  night  but  candles.  If  the  tale  goes  on 
to  change  clouds  or  planets  into  living  creatures,  —  to  invest 
them  with  fair  forms  and  inflame  them  with  mighty  passions, 
—  we  can  only  understand  the  story  of  the  human-hearted 
things,  in  so  far  as  we  ourselves  take  pleasure  in  the  perfect- 
ness  of  visible  form,  or  can  sympathize,  by  an  effort  of  imagina- 
tion, with  the  strange  people  who  had  other  loves  than  that  of 
wealth,  and  other  interests  than  those  of  commerce.  And,  lastly, 
if  the  myth  complete  itself  to  the  fulfilled  thoughts  of  the 
nation,  by  attributing  to  the  gods,  whom  they  have  carved  out 
of  their  fantasy,  continual  presence  with  their  own  souls  ;  and 
their  every  effort  for  good  is  finally  guided  by  the  sense  of  the 
companionship,  the  praise,  and  the  pure  will  of  immortals,  we 
shall  be  able  to  follow  them  into  this  last  circle  of  their  faith 
only  in  the  degree  in  which  the  better  parts  of  our  own  beings 
have  been  also  stirred  by  the  aspects  of  nature,  or  strengthened 
by  her  laws.  It  may  be  easy  to  prove  that  the  ascent  of  Apollo 
in  his  chariot  signifies  nothing  but  the  rising  of  the  sun.  But 
what  does  the  sunrise  itself  signify  to  us?  If  only  languid 
return  to  frivolous  amusement,  or  fruitless  labor,  it  will,  indeed, 
not  be  easy  for  us  to  conceive  the  power,  over  a  Greek,  of  the 
name  of  Apollo.  But  if,  for  us  also,  as  for  the  Greek,  the  sun- 
rise means  daily  restoration  to  the  sense  of  passionate  gladness 
and  of  perfect  life,  —  if  it  means  the  thrilling  of  new  strength 
through  every  nerve,  —  the  shedding  over  us  of  a  better  peace 
than  the  peace  of  night,  in  the  power  of  the  dawn,  —  and  the 
purging  of  evil  vision  and  fear  by  the  baptism  of  its  dew  ;  —  if 
the  sun  itself  is  an  influence,  to  us  also,  of  spiritual  good  —  and 
becomes  thus  in  reality,  not  in  imagination,  to  us  also,  a  spirit- 
ual power, — we  may  then  soon  overpass  the  narrow  limit  of 
conception  which  kept  that  power  impersonal,  and  rise  with  the 
Greek  to  the  thought  of  an  angel  who  rejoiced  as  a  strong  man 
to  run  his  course,  whose  voice  calling  to  life  and  to  labor  rang 
round  the  earth,  and  whose  going  forth  was  to  the  ends  of 
heaven. 


BALLADE  OP  THE  MYSTERIOUS  HOSTS  OF  THE  FOREST.    355 

BALLADE   OF  THE   MYSTERIOUS   HOSTS   OF    THE 

FOREST. 

By  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE. 

(Translated  by  Andrew  Lang.) 

[TntoDORE  Fattllain  de  Banville,  French  novelist  and  poet,  was  born 
at  Moulins,  March  14,  1823 ;  died  at  Paris,  March  13,  1891.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  naval  officer  ;  became  a  Parisian  man  of  letters.  His  best-known  works  were 
the  volumes  of  poetry,  "The  Caryatides"  (1842),  "The  Stalactites"  (1846) 
"Odes  Funambulesques "  (1857),  "New  Odes  Funambulesques "  (1868) 
"  Russian  Idyls  "  (1872),  and  "  Thirty-six  Merry  Ballads"  (1873).  He  wrote 
also  prose  tales  and  sketches;  as,  "The  Poor  Mountebanks"  (1853)  "The 
Parisians  of  Paris"  (1866),  "Tales  for  Women"  (1881),  and  "The  Soul  of 
Paris  "  (1890).     He  published  his  autobiography,  "  My  Recollections,"  in  1882. 

For  biography  of  Andrew  Lang,  the  distinguished  scholar,  poet,  and  man 
of  letters,  see  "Calypso,"  Vol.  2.] 

Still  sing  the  mocking  fairies,  as  of  old, 

Beneath  the  shade  of  thorn  and  holly  tree ; 
The  west  wind  breathes  upon  them  pure  and  cold, 

And  still  wolves  dread  Diana  roving  free. 

In  secret  woodland  with  her  company. 
'Tis  thought  the  peasants'  hovels  know  her  rite 
When  now  the  wolds  are  bathed  in  silver  light, 

And  first  the  moonrise  breaks  the  dusky  gray ; 
Then  down  the  dells,  with  blown  soft  hair  and  bright, 

And  through  the  dim  wood,  Dian  thrids  her  way. 

With  waterweeds  twined  in  their  locks  of  gold 

The  strange  cold  forest  fairies  dance  in  glee ; 
Sylphs  overtimorous  and  overbold 

Haunt  the  dark  hollows  where  the  dwarf  may  be, 

The  wild  red  dwarf,  the  nixies'  enemy : 
Then,  'mid  their  mirth,  and  laughter,  and  affright. 
The  sudden  goddess  enters,  tall  and  white. 

With  one  long  sigh  for  summers  passed  away ; 
The  swift  feet  tear  the  ivy  nets  outright. 

And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  thrids  her  way. 

She  gleans  her  sylvan  trophies ;  down  the  wold 

She  hears  the  sobbing  of  the  stags  that  flee, 
Mixed  with  the  music  of  the  hunting  rolled: 

But  her  delight  is  all  in  archery. 

And  naught  of  ruth  and  pity  wotteth  she 
More  than  the  hounds  that  follow  on  the  flight  j 


356  THE  LABORS  OF  HERCULES. 

The  tall  nymph  draws  a  golden  bow  of  might, 
And  thick  she  rains  the  gentle  shafts  that  slay, 

She  tosses  loose  her  locks  upon  the  night, 
And  Dian  through  the  dim  wood  thrids  her  way. 

Envoi. 

Prince,  let  us  leave  the  din,  the  dust,  the  spite. 

The  gloom  and  glare  of  towns,  the  plague,  the  blight; 

Amid  the  forest  leaves  and  fountain  spray 
There  is  the  mystic  home  of  our  delight. 

And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  thrids  her  way. 


THE   LABORS   OF   HERCULES. 

By  Sir  GEORGE  W.  COX  (rewritten). 

Deceived  by  the  evil  advice  of  Ate,  the  mischief-maker  of 
the  gods,  Jupiter  said  to  Juno  his  queen,  "  This  day  a  child 
shall  be  born  of  the  race  of  Perseus,  who  shall  be  the  mightiest 
of  all  on  earth."  He  meant  his  son  Hercules;  but  Juno  had 
a  crafty  trick  in  her  mind  to  lay  a  heavy  curse  on  that  son, 
whom  naturally  she  hated  for  his  being  such.  She  asked  Jupi- 
ter if  what  he  had  just  said  should  surely  be  so,  and  he  gave  the 
nod  which  meant  the  vow  that  could  not  be  recalled  ;  then  she 
went  to  the  Fates  and  induced  them  to  have  Eurystheus  born 
first,  so  that  he  should  be  the  one  mortal  more  powerful  than 
Hercules,  though  he  was  a  weak,  jealous,  and  spiteful  man. 

So  the  lot  was  fixed  that  all  his  life  long  Hercules  should  toil 
at  the  will  of  a  mean  and  envious  master.  He  was  matchless 
in  strength,  courage,  and  beauty  ;  but  he  was  to  have  neither 
profit  nor  comfort  from  them  till  he  should  pass  from  the  land 
of  mortals.  But  Jupiter  was  enraged  at  the  ruin  of  his  plans 
for  the  child  by  Juno's  plot ;  he  cast  forth  Ate  from  the  halls 
of  Olympus  and  forbade  her  to  dwell  again  among  the  gods,  and 
ordained  that  Hercules  should  dwell  with  the  gods  in  Olympus 
as  soon  as  his  days  of  toils  on  earth  were  ended. 

So  Hercules  grew  up  in  the  house  of  Amphitryon  (the 
husband  of  Alcmena,  the  mother  of  the  baby  demigod),  full  of 
beauty  and  wonderful  might.  One  day,  as  he  lay  sleeping,  two 
huge  serpents  came  into  the  chamber,  twisted  their  coils  round 


THE  LABORS  OF  HERCULES.  357 

the  cradle,  and  gazed  on  him  with  their  cold,  glassy  eyes,  till 
the  sound  of  their  hissing  woke  him ;  but  instead  of  being 
frightened,  he  stretched  out  his  little  arms,  caught  hold  of  the 
serpents'  necks,  and  strangled  them  to  death.  All  knew  by 
this  sign  that  he  was  to  have  terrible  struggles  with  the  evil 
things  of  the  world,  but  was  to  come  off  the  victor. 

As  he  grew  up,  no  one  could  compare  with  him  for  strength 
of  arm  and  swiftness  of  foot,  in  taming  horses,  or  in  wrestling. 
The  best  men  in  Argos  were  his  teachers ;  and  the  wise  cen- 
taur Chiron  was  his  friend,  and  taught  him  always  to  help 
the  weak  and  take  their  part  against  any  who  oppressed  them. 
For  all  his  great  strength,  none  were  more  gentle  than  Hercu- 
les ;  none  more  full  of  pity  for  those  bowed  down  by  pain  and 
labor. 

But  it  was  bitter  to  him  that  he  must  spend  his  life  slaving 
for  Eurystheus,  while  others  were  rich  in  joy  and  pleasures, 
feasts  and  games.  One  day,  thinking  of  these  things,  he  sat 
down  by  the  wayside  where  two  paths  met,  in  a  lonely  valley 
far  from  the  dwellings  of  men.  Suddenly  lifting  up  his  eyes, 
he  saw  two  women  coming  toward  him,  each  from  a  different 
road.  Both  were  fair  to  look  upon  :  but  one  had  a  soft  and 
gentle  face,  and  was  clad  in  pure  white.  The  other  looked 
boldly  at  Hercules  ;  her  face  was  ruddier,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  a  hot  and  restless  glitter  ;  her  thin,  embroidered  robe, 
streaming  in  long  folds  from  her  shoulders,  clung  about  her 
voluptuous  figure,  revealing  more  than  it  hid.  With  a  quick 
and  eager  step  she  hastened  to  him,  so  as  to  be  the  first  to 
speak.  And  she  said :  "  I  know,  man  of  toils  and  grief,  that 
your  heart  is  sad  within  you,  and  that  you  know  not  which 
way  to  turn.  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  lead  you  on  a  soft 
and  pleasant  road,  where  no  storms  shall  vex  you  and  no  sor- 
rows shall  trouble  you.  You  shall  never  hear  of  wars  or  fight- 
ing ;  sickness  and  pain  shall  not  come  near  you  :  but  you  shall 
feast  all  day  long  at  rich  banquets  and  listen  to  the  songs  of 
minstrels.  You  shall  not  want  for  sparkling  wine,  soft  robes, 
or  pleasant  couches  ;  you  shall  not  lack  the  delights  of  love, 
for  the  bright  eyes  of  maidens  shall  look  gently  upon  you,  and 
their  song  shall  lull  you  to  sleep." 

Hercules  said  :  "  You  promise  me  pleasant  things,  lady,  and 
I  am  sorely  pressed  down  by  a  hard  master.     What  is  your 


name 


? 


"  My  friends,"  said  she,  "  call  me  Pleasure  ;  those  who  look 


358  THE   LABORS  OF   HERCULES. 

on  me  with  disfavor  have  given  me  more  than  one  bad  name 
and  an  ill  repute,  but  they  speak  falsely." 

Then  the  other  said  :  "  Hercules,  I  too  know  who  you  are 
and  the  doom  laid  on  you,  and  liow  you  have  toiled  and  endured 
even  from  childhood ;  that  is  the  very  reason  I  feel  sure  you 
will  give  me  your  love.  If  you  do  so,  men  will  speak  of  your 
good  deeds  in  future  times,  and  ray  name  will  be  still  more 
exalted.  But  1  have  no  fine  words  to  cheat  you  with.  Noth- 
ing good  is  ever  reached,  nothing  great  is  ever  won,  without 
toil.  If  you  seek  for  fruit  from  the  earth,  you  must  tend  and 
till  it ;  if  you  would  have  the  favor  of  tlie  gods,  you  must  come 
before  them  with  prayers  and  offerings  ;  if  you  long  for  the 
love  of  men,  you  must  do  them  good." 

Then  the  other  broke  in  and  said  :  "  You  see,  Hercules, 
that  Virtue  seeks  to  lead  you  on  a  long  and  weary  path  ;  but 
my  broad  and  easy  road  leads  quickly  to  happiness." 

Virtue  answered  with  a  flash  of  anger  in  her  pure  eyes : 
"  Wretched  thing,  what  good  thing  have  you  to  give,  and  what 
pleasure  can  you  feel,  who  know  not  what  it  is  to  toil  ?  Your 
lusts  are  satiated,  your  taste  is  dulled  into  indifference  or  nau- 
sea. You  drink  the  wine  before  you  are  thirsty,  and  fill  your- 
self with  dainties  before  you  are  hungry.  Though  you  are 
numbered  among  the  immortals,  the  gods  have  cast  you  forth 
out  of  heaven,  and  good  men  scorn  you.  The  sweetest  of  all 
sounds,  when  a  man's  heart  praises  him,  you  have  never  heard ; 
the  sweetest  of  all  sights,  when  a  man  looks  on  his  good  deeds, 
you  have  never  seen.  Those  who  bow  down  to  you  are  weak 
and  feeble  in  youth,  and  wretched  and  loathsome  in  old  age. 
But  I  dwell  with  the  gods  in  heaven,  and  with  good  men  on  the 
earth ;  and  without  me  nothing  good  can  be  done  or  thought. 
More  than  all  others  I  am  honored  by  the  gods  and  cherished 
by  the  men  who  love  me.  In  peace  and  in  war,  in  health  and 
in  sickness,  I  am  the  aid  of  all  who  seek  me  ;  and  my  help 
never  fails.  My  children  know  the  purest  of  all  pleasures, 
when  the  hour  of  rest  comes  after  the  toil  of  day.  In  youth 
they  are  strong,  and  their  limbs  are  quick  with  health  ;  in  old 
age  they  look  back  upon  a  happy  life  ;  and  when  they  lie  down 
to  the  sleep  of  death,  their  name  is  cherished  among  men  for 
their  good  and  useful  deeds.  Love  me,  therefore,  Hercules, 
and  obey  my  words,  and  when  your  labors  are  ended  3'ou  shall 
dwell  with  me  in  the  home  of  the  immortal  gods." 

Hercules  bowed  his  head  and  swore  to  follow  Virtue's  counsels, 


THE  LABORS  OF  HERCULES.  359 

and  went  forth  with  a  good  courage  to  his  labor  and  suffering. 
He  lived  and  wrought  in  many  lands  to  obey  Eurystheus'  orders. 
He  did  good  deeds  for  men;  but  he  gained  nothing  by  them 
except  the  love  of  the  gentle  lole.  Far  away  in  (Echalia,  where 
the  sun  rises  from  the  eastern  sea,  he  saw  the  maiden  in  the 
halls  of  Eurytus,  and  sought  to  win  her  love.  But  Jupiter's 
vow  to  Juno  gave  him  no  rest.  Eurystheus  sent  him  to  other 
lands,  and  he  saw  the  maiden  no  more. 

But  Hercules  kept  up  a  good  heart,  and  the  glory  of  his  great 
deeds  became  spread  abroad  through  all  the  earth.     Minstrels 
sang  how  he  slew  the  monsters  and  savage  beasts  who  vexed  the 
sons  of  men  ;  how  he  smote  the  Hydra  in  the  land  of  Lerna, 
and  the  wild  boar  which  haunted  the  groves  of  Erymanthus, 
and  the  Harpies  who  lurked  in  the  swamps   of   Stymphalus. 
They  told  how  he  traveled  far  away  to  the  land  of  the  setting 
sun,  where  Eurystheus  bade  him  pluck  the  golden  apples  from 
the  garden  of  the  Hesperides  :  how  over  hill  and  dale,  across 
marsh  and  river,  through  thicket  and  forest,  he  came  to  the 
western  sea,  and  crossed  to  the  African  land  where  Atlas  lifts 
up  his  white  head  to  the  high  heaven;  how  he  smote  the  dragon 
which  guarded  the  brazen  gates,  and  brought  the  apples  to  King 
Eurystheus.     They  sang  of  his  weary  journey  when  he  roamed 
through  the  land  of  the  Ethiopians  and  came  to  the  wild  and 
desolate  heights  of  Caucasus ;  how  he  saw  a  giant  form  high  on 
the  naked  rock,  and  the  vulture  which  gnawed  the  Titan's  heart 
with  its  beak ;  how  he  slew  the  bird,  and  smote  off  the  cruel 
chains,  and  set  Prometheus  free.     They  sang  how  Eurystheus 
laid  on  him  a  fruitless  task,  by  sending  him  down  to  the  dark 
land  of  King  Hades  to  bring  up  the  monster  Cerberus ;  how 
upon  the  shore  of  the  gloomy  Acheron  he  found  the  mighty 
hound  who  guards  the  home  of  Hades  and  Persephone,  seized 
him  and  brought  him  to  Eurystheus.     They  sang  of  the  days 
when  he  worked  in  the  land  of  Queen  Omphale  beneath  the 
Libyan  sun  ;  how  he  destroyed  the  walls  of  Ilion  when  Laome- 
don  was  king  ;  how  he  was  i3id  to  cleanse  the  vast  stables  where 
King  Augeas  had  kept  a  thousand  horses  for  thirty  years  with- 
out removing  a  spadeful   of   the   filth,  and    accomplished  the 
task  by  turning  a  river  through  them  ;  and  how  he  went  to 
Calydon  and  wooed  and  won  Dejanira,  the  daughter   of   the 
chieftain  (Eneus. 

He  dwelt  a  long  time  in  Calydon,  and  the  people  there  loved 
him  for  his  kindly  deeds.     But  one  day  he  accidentally  killed 


S60  THE  LABORS  OF   HERCULES. 

with  his  spear  the  boy  Eunomus.  The  father  held  no  grudge 
against  Hercules,  knowing  that  he  did  not  intend  the  death  ; 
but  Hercules  was  so  grieved  for  the  death  that  he  left  the 
country,  and  went  again  on  his  travels.  On  the  banks  of  the 
Evenus  he  wounded  with  a  poisoned  arrow  the  centaur  Nessus, 
for  attempting  to  assault  Dejanira.  As  the  poison  ran  through 
the  centaur's  veins,  he  was  frenzied  with  a  desire  to  revenge 
himself  on  Hercules  ;  and  under  guise  of  forgiveness  and  good 
will  to  Dejanira,  he  advised  her  to  fill  a  shell  with  his  blood, 
and  if  ever  she  lost  the  love  of  Hercules,  to  spread  it  on  a  robe 
for  him  to  wear,  and  the  love  would  return. 

So  Nessus  died  ;  and  Hercules  went  to  the  land  of  Trachis, 
and  there  Dejanira  remained  while  he  journeyed  to  the  far 
East.  Years  passed,  and  he  did  not  return.  At  last  news  came 
of  great  deeds  he  had  done  in  distant  lands ;  among  them  that 
he  had  slain  Eurytus,  the  king  of  GEchalia,  and  taken  a  willing 
captive  his  daughter  lole,  the  most  beautiful  maiden  in  the 
land. 

Then  the  words  of  Nessus  came  back  to  Dejanira:  she 
thought  Hercules'  love  had  gone  from  her,  and  to  win  it  back 
she  smeared  a  richly  embroidered  robe  with  the  centaur's  blood, 
and  with  a  message  full  of  heartfelt  love  and  honor  sent  it  to 
him  to  wear.  The  messenger  found  him  offering  sacrifice  to  his 
father  Jupiter,  and  gave  him  the  robe  in  token  of  Dejanira's 
love.  Hercules  wrapped  it  round  him,  and  stood  by  the  altar 
while  the  black  smoke  rolled  up  toward  heaven.  Presently  the 
vengeance  of  Nessus  was  accomplished  :  the  poison  began  to 
burn  fiercely  through  Hercules'  veins.  He  strove  in  vain  to 
tear  off  the  robe  :  it  had  become  as  part  of  his  own  skin,  and 
he  only  tore  pieces  out  of  his  own  flesh  in  the  attempt ;  as  he 
writhed  in  agony,  the  blood  poured  from  his  body  in  streams. 

Then  the  maiden  lole  came  to  his  side,  and  sought  to  soothe 
his  agony  with  her  gentle  hands  and  to  cheer  him  with  pitying 
words.  Then  once  more  his  face  flushed  with  a  deep  joy,  and 
his  eye  glanced  with  a  pure  light,  as  in  the  days  of  his  young 
might ;  and  he  said  :  "  Ah,  lole,  my  first  and  best  love,  your 
voice  is  my  comfort  as  I  sink  down  into  the  sleep  of  death.  I 
loved  you  in  my  morning  time ;  but  Fate  would  not  give  you 
to  me  for  a  companion  in  my  long  wanderings.  But  I  will 
waste  none  of  my  short  final  happiness  in  grieving  now  :  you 
are  with  me  to  be  the  last  thing  I  see  or  hear  or  think  of  in 
Hfe." 


HYMN  OF  APOLLO.  361 

Then  he  made  them  carry  him  to  the  high  croiil  of  Mount 
(Eta  and  gather  wood.  When  all  was  ready,  he  lay  down  to  rest 
on  the  huge  pyre,  and  they  kindled  it.  The  shades  were  dark- 
ening the  sky,  but  Hercules  tried  still  to  pierce  them  with  his 
eyes  to  gaze  on  lole's  face  and  cheer  her  in  her  sorrow.  "  Weep 
not,  lole,"  he  said  ;  "my  labors  are  done,  and  now  is  the  time 
for  rest.  I  shall  see  you  again  in  the  land  where  night  never 
comes." 

Darker  and  darker  grew  the  evening  shades  ;  and  only  the 
blazing  of  the  funeral  pile  on  the  mountain  top  pierced  the  black- 
ness of  the  gloom.  Then  a  thundercloud  came  down  from 
heaven  and  its  bolt  crashed  through  the  air.  So  Jupiter  carried 
his  child  home,  and  the  halls  of  Olympus  were  opened  to  wel- 
come the  hero,  who  rested  at  last  from  his  matchless  labors. 


HYMN   OF   APOLLO. 

By  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 

[Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  English  poet,  was  born  in  Sussex,  August  4,  1792, 
and  educated  at  Eton  and  at  University  College,  Oxford,  whence  he  was  expelled 
for  a  tract  on  the  "Necessity  of  Atheism."  His  first  notable  poem,  "Queen 
Mab,"  was  privately  printed  in  1813.  He  succeeded  to  his  father's  estate  in 
1815.  "Alastor"  was  completed  in  1816;  "The  Revolt  of  Islam,"  "Rosalind 
and  Helen,"  and  "Julian  and  Maddalo,"  in  1818;  "Prometheus  Unbound," 
"The  Cenci,"  "The  Coliseum,"  "Peter  Bell  the  Third,"  and  the  "Mask  of 
Anarchy,"  in  1819  ;  "  CEdipus  Tyrannus  "  and  the  "  Witch  of  Atlas,"  in  1820  ; 
"Epipsychidion,"  "The  Defense  of  Poetry,"  "  Adonais,"  and  "Hellas,"  in 
1822.     He  was  drowned  at  sea  July  8,  1822.] 

The  sleepless  Hours  who  watch  me  as  I  lie, 

Curtained  with  star-inwoven  tapestries 
From  the  broad  moonlight  of  the  sky, 

Fanning  the  busy  dreams  from  my  dim  eyes, 
Waken  me  when  their  Mother,  the  gray  Dawn, 
Tells  them  that  dreams  and  that  the  moon  is  gone. 

Then  I  arise,  and,  climbing  heaven's  blue  dome, 
I  walk  over  the  mountains  and  the  waves. 

Leaving  my  robe  upon  the  ocean  foam ;  — 

My  footsteps  pave  the  clouds  with  fire ;  the  caves 

Are  filled  with  my  bright  presence ;  and  the  air 

Leaves  the  green  Earth  to  my  embraces  bare. 


362  THE  GOLDEN   APPLES. 

The  sunbeams  are  my  shafts,  with  which  I  kill 
Deceit,  that  loves  the  night  and  fears  the  day; 

All  men  who  do  or  even  imagine  ill 
Fly  me,  and  from  the  glory  of  my  ray 

Good  minds  and  open  actions  take  new  might, 

Until  diminished  by  the  reign  of  Night. 

I  feed  the  clouds,  the  rainbows,  and  the  flowers, 
With  their  ethereal  colors ;  the  moon's  globe, 

And  the  pure  stars  in  their  eternal  bowers, 
Are  cinctured  with  my  power  as  with  a  robe ; 

Whatever  lamps  on  earth  or  heaven  may  shine 

Are  portions  of  one  power  which  is  mine. 

I  stand  at  noon  upon  the  peak  of  heaven ; 

Then  with  unwilling  steps  I  wander  down 
Into  the  clouds  of  the  Atlantic  even  ; 

For  grief  that  I  depart  they  weep  and  frown. 
Wliat  look  is  more  delightful  than  the  smile 
With  which  I  soothe  them  from  the  western  isle  ? 

I  am  the  eye  with  which  the  universe 

Beholds  itself,  and  knows  itself  divine ; 
All  harmony  of  instrument  or  verse, 

All  prophecy,  all  medicine,  are  mine. 
All  light  of  Art  or  Nature  ;  —  to  my  song 
Victory  and  praise  in  its  own  right  belong. 

THE   GOLDEN   APPLES. 

By  WILLIAM  MORRIS. 

(From  "The  Earthly  Paradise.") 

[William  Morris,  English  poet  and  art  reformer,  was  bom  March  24, 
1834  ;  educated  at  Oxford,  and  was  one  of  the  Preraphaelites.  His  best-known 
poem  is  "The  Earthly  Paradise";  he  has  also  written  "The  Defense  of 
Guinevere,"  "The  Life  and  Death  of  Jason,"  "Sigurd  the  Volsung,"  "The 
Fall  of  the  Niblun^s,"  and  smaller  ones.  In  prose  he  wrote  "The  House  of  the 
Wolfings,"  "The  Glittering  Plain,"  etc.  He  founded  a  manufactory  of  house- 
hold decorations  to  reform  public  taste,  and  a  printing  house  for  artistic  typog- 
raphy.    He  was  also  a  fervent  Socialist.     He  died  October  3,  1896.] 

As  many  as  the  leaves  fall  from  the  tree, 
From  the  world's  life  the  years  are  fallen  away 
Since  King  Eurystheus  sat  in  majesty 
In  fair  Mycenae ;  midmost  of  whose  day 
It  once  befell  that  in  a  quiet  bay 


THE   GOLDEN    APPLES.  363 

A  ship  of  Tyre  was  swinging  nigh  the  shore, 
Her  folk  for  sailing  handling  rope  and  oar. 

Fresh  was  the  summer  morn,  a  soft  wind  stole 
Down  from  the  sheep-browsed  slopes  the  cliffs  that  crowned, 
And  riiiHed  lightly  the  long  gleaming  roll 
Of  the  peaceful  sea,  and  bore  along  the  sound 
Of  shepherd  folk  and  sheep  and  questing  hound; 
For  in  the  first  dip  of  the  hillside  there 
Lay  bosomed  'mid  its  trees  a  homestead  fair. 

Amid  regrets  for  last  night,  when  the  moon, 
Risen  on  the  soft  dusk,  shone  on  maidens'  feet 
Brushing  the  gold-heart  lilies  to  the  tune 
Of  pipes  complaining,  o'er  the  grass  down-beat 
That  mixed  with  dewy  flowers  its  odor  sweet, 
The  shipmen  labored,  till  the  sail  unfurled 
Swung  round  the  prow  to  meet  another  world. 

But  ere  the  anchor  had  come  home,  a  shout 
Rang  from  the  strand,  as  though  the  ship  were  hailed. 
Whereat  the  master  bade  them  stay,  in  doubt 
That  they  without  some  needful  thing  had  sailed ; 
When,  lo !  from  where  the  cliffs'  steep  gray  sides  failed 
Into  a  ragged,  stony  slip,  came  twain 
Who  seemed  in  haste  the  ready  keel  to  gain. 

Soon  they  drew  nigh,  and  he  who  first  came  down 
Unto  the  surf  was  a  man  huge  of  limb. 
Gray-eyed,  with  crisp-curled  hair  'twixt  black  and  brown; 
Who  had  a  lion's  skin  cast  over  him. 
So  wrought  with  gold  that  the  fell  showed  but  dim 
Betwixt  the  threads,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore 
A  mighty  club  with  bands  of  steel  done  o'er. 

Panting  there  followed  him  a  gray  old  man, 
Bearing  a  long  staff,  clad  in  gown  of  blue, 
Feeble  of  aspect,  hollow-cheeked,  and  wan. 
Who,  when  unto  his  fellow's  side  he  drew. 
Said  faintly  :  "Now,  do  that  which  thou  shouldst  do; 
This  is  the  ship."     Then  in  the  other's  eye 
A  smile  gleamed,  and  he  spake  out  merrily : 

"  Masters,  folk  tell  me  that  ye  make  for  Tyre, 
And  after  that  still  nearer  to  the  sun ; 
And  since  Fate  bids  me  look  to  die  by  fire, 


364  THE  GOLDEN   APPLES. 

Fain  am  I,  ere  my  worldly  day  be  done, 
To  know  what  from  earth's  hottest  can  be  won ; 
And  this  old  man,  my  kinsman,  would  with  me. 
How  say  ye,  will  ye  bear  us  o'er  the  sea  ?  " 

"  What  is  thy  name  ?  "  the  master  said  :  "  And  know 
That  we  are  merchants,  and  for  naught  give  naught ; 
What  wilt  thou  pay  ?  —  thou  seem'st  full  rich,  I  trow." 
The  old  man  muttered,  stooped  adown  and  caught 
At  something  in  the  sand :  "  E'en  so  I  thought," 
The  younger  said,  "  when  I  set  out  from  home  — 
As  to  my  name,  perchance  in  days  to  come 

"  Thou  shalt  know  that  —  but  have  heed,  take  this  toy, 
And  call  me  the  Strong  Man."     And  as  he  spake 
The  master's  deep  brown  eyes  'gan  gleam  with  joy, 
For  from  his  arm  a  huge  ring  did  he  take. 
And  cast  it  ou  the  deck,  where  it  did  break 
A  water  jar,  and  in  the  wet  shards  lay 
Golden,  and  gleaming  like  the  end  of  day. 

But  the  old  man  held  out  a  withered  hand, 
Wherein  there  shone  two  pearls  most  great  and  fair, 
And  said,  "  If  any  nigher  I  might  stand, 
Then  mightst  thou  see  the  things  I  give  thee  here  — 
And  for  name  —  a  many  names  I  bear, 
But  call  me  Shepherd  of  the  Shore  this  tide. 
And  for  more  knowledge  with  a  good  will  bide." 

From  one  to  the  other  turned  the  master's  eyes ; 
The  Strong  Man  laughed  as  at  some  hidden  jest, 
And  wild  doubts  in  the  shipman's  heart  did  rise ; 
But  thinking  on  the  thing,  he  deemed  it  best 
To  bid  them  come  aboard,  and  take  such  rest 
As  they  might  have  of  the  untrusty  sea, 
'Mid  men  who  trusty  fellows  still  should  be. 

Then  no  more  words  the  Strong  Man  made,  but  straight 
Caught  up  the  elder  in  his  arms,  and  so. 
Making  no  whit  of  all  that  added  weight, 
Strode  to  the  ship,  right  through  the  breakers  low. 
And  catching  at  the  rope  that  they  did  throw 
Out  toward  his  hand,  swung  up  into  the  ship : 
Then  did  the  master  let  the  hawser  slip. 


THE   GOLDEN    APPLES.  365 

The  shapely  prow  cleft  the  wet  mead  and  green, 
And  wondering  drew  the  shipmen  round  to  gaze 
Upon  those  limbs,  the  mightiest  ever  seen; 
And  many  deemed  it  no  light  thing  to  face 
The  splendor  of  his  eyen,  though  they  did  blaze 
With  no  wrath  now,  no  hate  for  them  to  dread, 
As  seaward  'twixt  the  summer  isles  they  sped. 

Freshened  the  wind,  but  ever  fair  it  blew 
Unto  the  southeast ;  but  as  failed  the  land, 
Unto  the  plunging  prow  the  Strong  Man  drew. 
And,  silent,  gazing  with  wide  eyes  did  stand, 
As  though  his  heart  found  rest;  but  'mid  the  band 
Of  shipmen  in  the  stern  the  old  man  sat, 
Telling  them  tales  that  no  man  there  forgat. 

As  one  who  had  beheld,  he  told  them  there 
Of  the  sweet  singer,  who,  for  his  song's  sake, 
The  dolphins  back  from  choking  death  did  bear ; 
How  in  the  mid  sea  did  the  vine  outbreak 
O'er  that  ill  bark  when  Bacchus  'gan  to  wake ; 
How  anigh  Cyprus,  ruddy  with  the  rose 
The  cold  sea  grew  as  any  June-loved  close ; 

While  on  the  flowery  shore  all  things  alive 
Grew  faint  with  sense  of  birth  of  some  delight. 
And  the  nymphs  waited  trembling  there,  to  give 
Glad  welcome  to  the  glory  of  that  sight : 
He  paused  then,  ere  he  told  how,  wild  and  white, 
Rose  ocean,  breaking  o'er  a  race  accurst, 
A  world  once  good,  now  come  unto  its  worst. 

And  then  he  smiled,  and  said,  "  And  yet  ye  won. 
Ye  men,  and  tremble  not  on  days  like  these. 
Nor  think  with  what  a  mind  Prometheus'  son 
Beheld  the  last  of  the  torn  reeling  trees 
From  high  Parnassus :  slipping  through  the  seas 
Ye  never  think,  ye  men  folk,  how  ye  seem 
From  down  below  through  the  green  waters'  gleam." 

Dusk  was  it  now  when  these  last  words  he  said, 
And  little  of  his  visage  might  they  see, 
But  o'er  their  hearts  stole  vague  and  troublous  dread, 
They  knew  not  why ;  yet  ever  quietly 
They  sailed  that  i>ight ;  nor  might  a  morning  bo 


366  THE   GOLDEN    APPLES. 

Fairer  than  was  the  next  morn;  and  they  went 
Along  their  due  course  after  their  intent. 

The  fourth  day,  about  sunrise,  from  the  mast 
The  watch  cried  out  he  saw  Phoenician  land ; 
Whereat  the  Strong  Man  on  the  elder  cast 
A  look  askance,  and  he  straight  took  his  stand 
Anigh  the  prow,  and  gazed  beneath  his  hand 
Upon  the  low  sun  and  the  scarce-seen  shore, 
Till  cloud  flecks  rose,  and  gathered  and  drew  o'er. 

The  morn  groAvn  cold ;  then  small  rain  'gan  to  fall, 
And  all  the  wind  dropped  dead,  and  hearts  of  men 
Sank,  and  their  bark  seemed  helpless  now  and  small; 
Then  suddenly  the  wind  'gan  moan  again; 
Sails  flapped,  and  ropes  beat  wild  about ;  and  then 
Down  came  the  great  east  wind ;  and  the  ship  ran 
Straining,  heeled  o'er,  through  seas  all  changed  and  wan. 

Westward,  scarce  knowing  night  from  day,  they  drave 
Through  sea  and  sky  grown  one ;  the  Strong  Man  wrought 
With  mighty  hands,  and  seemed  a  god  to  save ; 
But  on  the  prow,  heeding  all  weather  naught, 
The  elder  stood,  nor  any  prop  he  sought, 
But  swayed  to  the  ship's  wallowing,  as  on  wings 
He  there  were  set  above  the  wrack  of  things. 

And  westward  still  they  drave ;  and  if  they  saw 
Land  upon  either  side,  as  on  they  sped, 
'Tvvas  but  as  faces  in  a  dream  may  draw 
Anigh,  and  fade,  and  leave  naught  in  their  stead ; 
And  in  the  shipmen's  hearts  grew  heavy  dread 
To  sick  despair  ;  they  deemed  they  should  drive  on 
Till  the  world's  edge  and  empty  space  were  won. 

But  'ueath  the  Strong  Man's  eyes  e'en  as  they  might 
They  toiled  on  still;  and  he  sang  to  the  wind, 
And  spread  his  arms  to  meet  the  waters  white. 
As  o'er  the  deck  they  tumbled,  making  blind 
The  brine-drenched  shipmen ;  nor  with  eye  unkind 
He  gazed  up  at  the  lightning ;  nor  would  frown 
When  o'er  the  wet  waste  Jove's  bolt  rattled  down. 

And  they,  who  at  the  last  had  come  to  think 
Their  guests  were  very  gods,  with  all  their  fear 
Feared  naught  belike  that  their  good  ship  would  sink 


THE   GOLDEN   APPLES.  367 

Amid  the  storm ;  but  rather  looked  to  hear 

The  last  moan  of  the  wind  that  them  should  bear 

Into  the  windless  stream  of  ocean  gray, 

Where  they  should  float  till  dead  was  every  day. 

Yet  their  fear  mocked  them ;  for  the  storm  'gan  die 
About  the  tenth  day,  though  unto  the  west 
They  drave  on  still ;  soon  fair  and  quietly 
The  morn  would  break ;  and  though  amid  their  rest 
Naught  but  long  evil  wandering  seemed  the  best 
That  they  might  hope  for;  still,  despite  their  dread, 
Sweet  was  the  quiet  sea  and  goodlihead 

Of  the  bright  sun  at  last  come  back  again ; 
And  as  the  days  passed,  less  and  less  fear  grew, 
If  without  cause,  till  faded  all  their  pain ; 
And  they  'gan  turn  unto  their  guests  anew. 
Yet  durst  ask  naught  of  what  that  evil  drew 
Upon  their  heads  ;  or  of  returning  speak. 
Happy  they  felt,  but  listless,  spent,  and  weak. 

And  now  as  at  the  first  the  elder  was. 
And  sat  and  told  them  tales  of  yore  agone ; 
But  ever  the  Strong  Man  up  and  down  would  pass 
About  the  deck,  or  on  the  prow  alone 
Would  stand  and  stare  out  westward  ;  and  still  on 
Through  a  fair  summer  sea  they  went,  nor  thought 
Of  what  would  come  when  these  days  turned  to  naught. 

And  now  when  twenty  days  were  well  passed  o'er 
They  made  a  new  land ;  cloudy  mountains  high 
Kose  from  the  sea  at  first ;  then  a  green  shore 
Spread  fair  below  them  :  as  they  drew  anigh 
No  sloping,  stony  strand  could  they  espy. 
And  no  surf  breaking ;  the  green  sea  and  wide 
Wherethrough  they  slipped  was  driven  by  no  tide. 

Dark  fell  ere  they  might  set  their  eager  feet 
Upon  the  shore ;  but  night-long  their  ship  lay 
As  in  a  deep  stream,  by  the  blossoms  sweet 
That  flecked  the  grass  whence  flowers  ne'er  passed  away. 
But  when  the  cloud-barred  east  brought  back  the  day, 
And  turned  the  western  mountain  tops  to  gold, 
Fresh  fear  the  shipmen  in  their  bark  did  hold. 


368  THE   GOLDEN   APPLES. 

For  as  a  dream  seemed  all ;  too  fair  for  those 
Who  needs  must  die ;  moreover  they  could  see, 
A  furlong  off,  'twixt  apple  tree  and  rose, 
A  brazen  wall  that  gleamed  out  wondrously 
In  the  young  sun,  and  seemed  right  long  to  be; 
And  memory  of  all  marvels  lay  upon 
Their  shrinking  hearts  now  this  sweet  place  was  won. 

But  when  unto  the  nameless  guests  they  turned, 
Who  stood  together  nigh  the  plank  shot  out 
Shoreward,  within  the  Strong  Man's  eyes  there  burned 
A  wild  light,  as  the  other  one  in  doubt 
He  eyed  a  moment ;  then  with  a  great  shout 
Leaped  into  the  blossomed  grass  ;  the  echoes  rolled 
Back  from  the  hills,  harsh  still  and  overbold. 

Slowly  the  old  man  followed  him,  and  still 
The  crew  held  back :  they  knew  now  they  were  brought 
Over  the  sea  the  purpose  to  fulfill 

Of  these  strange  men ;  and  in  their  hearts  they  thought, 
"  Perchance  we  yet  shall  live,  if,  meddling  naught 
With  dreams,  we  bide  here  till  these  twain  come  back ; 
But  prying  eyes  the  fire  blast  seldom  lack." 

Yet  'mongst  them  were  two  fellows  bold  and  young, 
Who,  looking  each  upon  the  other's  face. 
Their  hearts  to  meet  the  unknown  danger  strung. 
And  went  ashore,  and  at  a  gentle  pace 
Followed  the  strangers,  who  unto  the  place 
Where  the  wall  gleamed  had  turned ;  peace  and  desire 
Mingled  together  in  their  hearts,  as  nigher 

They  drew  unto  that  wall,  and  dulled  their  fear : 
Fair  wrought  it  was,  as  though  with  bricks  of  brass; 
And  images  upon  its  face  there  were. 
Stories  of  things  a  long  while  come  to  pass  : 
Nor  that  alone  —  as  looking  in  a  glass 
Its  maker  knew  the  tales  of  what  should  be, 
And  wrought  them  there  for  bird  and  beast  to  see. 

So  on  they  went ;  the  many  birds  sang  sweet 
Through  all  that  blossomed  thicket  from  above, 
And  unknown  flowers  bent  down  before  their  feet ; 
The  yery  air,  cleft  by  tlie  gray-winged  dove. 
Throbbed  with  sweet  scent,  and  smote  their  souls  with.  love. 


THE   COLDEX   APPLES.  369 

Slowly  they  went  till  those  twain  stayed  before 
A  strangely  wrought  and  iron-covered  door. 

They  stayed,  too,  till  o'er  noise  of  wind,  and  bird, 
And  falling  flower,  there  rang  a  mighty  shout 
As  the  Strong  Man  his  steel-bound  club  upreared. 
And  drave  it  'gainst  the  hammered  iron  stout, 
Where  'neath  his  blows  flew  bolt  and  rivet  out. 
Till  shattered  on  the  ground  the  great  door  lay. 
And  into  the  guarded  place  bright  poured  the  day. 

The  Strong  Man  entered,  but  his  fellow  stayed 
Leaning  against  a  tree  trunk  as  they  deemed. 
They  faltered  now,  and  yet  all  things  being  weighed 
Went  on  again ;  and  thought  they  must  have  dreamed 
Of  the  old  man,  for  now  the  sunlight  streamed 
Full  on  the  tree  he  had  been  leaning  on, 
And  him  they  saw  not  go,  yet  was  he  gone : 

Only  a  slim  green  lizard  flitted  there 
Amidst  the  dry  leaves  ;  him  they  noted  naught. 
But,  trembling,  through  the  doorway  'gan  to  peer. 
And  still  of  strange  and  dreadful  saw  not  aught. 
Only  a  garden  fair  beyond  all  thought. 
And  there,  'twixt  sun  and  shade,  the  Strong  Man  went 
On  some  long-sought-for  end  belike  intent. 

They  'gan  to  follow  down  a  narrow  way 
Of  greensward  that  the  lilies  trembled  o'er. 
And  whereon  thick  the  scattered  rose  leaves  lay  ; 
But  a  great  wonder  weighed  upon  them  sore, 
And  well  they  thought  they  should  return  no  more ; 
Yet  scarce  a  pain  that  seemed ;  they  looked  to  meet 
Before  they  died  things  strange  and  fair  and  sweet. 

So  still  to  right  and  left  the  Strong  Man  thrust 
The  blossomed  boughs,  and  passed  on  steadily. 
As  though  his  hardy  heart  he  well  did  trust. 
Till  in  a  while  he  gave  a  joyous  cry. 
And  hastened  on,  as  though  the  end  drew  nigh ; 
And  women's  voices  then  they  deemed  they  heard, 
Mixed  with  a  noise  that  made  desire  afeard. 

Yet  through  sweet  scents  and  sounds  on  did  they  bear 
Their  panting  hearts,  till  the  path  ended  now 
In  a  wide  space  of  green ;  a  streamlet  clear 


370  THE  GOLDEJr   APPLES. 

From  out  a  marble  basin  there  did  flow, 
And  close  by  that  a  slim-trunked  tree  did  grow, 
And  on  a  bough  low  o'er  the  water  cold 
There  hung  three  apples  of  red-gleaming  gold. 

About  the  tree,  new  risen  e'en  now  to  meet 
The  shining  presence  of  that  mighty  one. 
Three  damsels  stood,  naked  from  head  to  feet 
Save  for  the  glory  of  their  hair,  where  sun 
And  shadow  flickered,  while  the  wind  did  run 
Through  the  gray  leaves  o'erhead,  and  shook  the  grass 
Where  nigh  their  feet  the  wandering  bee  did  pass. 

But  'midst  their  delicate  limbs  and  all  around 
The  tree  roots,  gleaming  blue  black  could  they  see 
The  spires  of  a  great  serpent,  that,  enwound 
About  the  smooth  bole,  looked  forth  threateningly. 
With  glittering  eyes  and  raised  crest,  o'er  the  three 
Fair  heads  fresh  crowned,  and  hissed  above  the  speech 
Wherewith  they  murmured  softly  each  to  each. 

Now  the  Strong  Man  amid  the  green  space  stayed, 
And,  leaning  on  his  club,  with  eager  eyes 
But  brow  yet  smooth,  in  voice  yet  friendly  said  : 
"0  daughters  of  old  Hesperus  the  Wise, 
Well  have  ye  held  your  guard  here ;  but  time  tries 
The  very  will  of  gods,  and  to  my  hand 
Must  give  this  day  the  gold  fruit  of  your  land." 

Then  spake  the  first  maid  —  sweet  as  the  west  wind 
Amidst  of  summer  noon  her  sweet  voice  was  : 
"  Ah,  me !  what  knows  this  place  of  changing  mind 
Of  men  or  gods  ?  here  shall  long  ages  pass, 
And  clean  forget  thy  feet  upon  the  grass, 
Thy  hapless  bones  amid  the  fruitful  mold ; 
Look  at  thy  death  envenomed  swift  and  cold ! " 

Hiding  new  flowers,  the  dull  coils,  as  she  spake, 
Moved  near  her  limbs :  but  then  the  second  one, 
In  such  a  voice  as  when  the  morn  doth  wake 
To  song  of  birds,  said,  "  When  the  world  foredone 
Has  moaned  its  last,  still  shall  we  dwell  alone 
Beneath  this  bough,  and  have  no  tales  to  tell 
Of  things  deemed  great  that  on  the  earth  befell." 


THE   GOLDEN   APPLES.  871 

Then  spake  tlie  third,  in  voice  as  of  the  flute 
That  wakes  the  maiden  to  her  wedding  morn : 
"  If  any  god  shoidd  gain  our  golden  fruit, 
Its  curse  would  make  his  deathless  life  forlorn. 
Lament  thou,  then,  that  ever  thou  wert  born ; 
Yet  all  things,  changed  by  joy  or  loss  or  pain, 
To  what  they  were  shall  change  and  change  again." 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said,  "  the  Fates  that  drive  me  on 
Shall  slay  me  or  shall  save ;  blessing  or  curse 
That  followeth  after  when  the  thing  is  won 
Shall  make  my  work  no  better  now  nor  worse ; 
And  if  it  be  that  the  world's  heart  must  nurse 
Hatred  against  me,  how  then  shall  I  choose 
To  leave  or  take  ?  —  let  your  dread  servant  loose ! " 

E'en  therewith,  like  a  pillar  of  black  smoke, 
Swift,  shifting  ever,  drave  the  worm  at  him ; 
In  deadly  silence  now  that  nothing  broke. 
Its  folds  were  writhing  round  him  trunk  and  limb, 
Until  his  glittering  gear  was  naught  but  dim 
E'en  in  that  sunshine,  while  his  head  and  side 
And  breast  the  fork-tongued,  pointed  muzzle  tried. 

Closer  the  coils  drew,  quicker  all  about 
The  forked  tongue  darted,  and  yet  stiff  he  stood, 
E'en  as  an  oak  that  sees  the  straw  flare  out 
And  lick  its  ancient  bole  for  little  good : 
Until  the  godlike  fury  of  his  mood 
Burst  from  his  heart  in  one  great  shattering  cry, 
And  rattling  down  the  loosened  coils  did  lie ; 

And  from  the  torn  throat  and  crushed  dreadful  head 
Eorth  flowed  a  stream  of  blood  along  the  grass ; 
Bright  in  the  sun  he  stood  above  the  dead. 
Panting  with  fury  ;  yet  as  ever  was 
The  wont  of  him,  soon  did  his  anger  pass. 
And  with  a  happy  smile  at  last  he  turned 
To  where  the  apples  o'er  the  water  burned. 

Silent  and  moveless  ever  stood  the  three ; 
No  change  came  o'er  their  faces,  as  his  hand 
Was  stretched  aloft  unto  the  sacred  tree ; 
Nor  shrank  they  aught  aback,  though  he  did  stand 
So  close  that  tresses  of  their  bright  hair,  fanned 


372  THE   GOLDEN  APPLES. 

By  the  sweet  garden  breeze,  lay  light  on  him, 
And  his  gold  fell  brushed  by  them  breast  and  limb. 

He  drew  adown  the  wind-stirred  bough,  and  took 

The  apples  thence ;  then  let  it  spring  away, 
And  from  his  brow  the  dark  hair  backward  shook, 
And  said :  "  0  sweet,  0  fair,  and  shall  this  day 
A  curse  upon  my  life  henceforward  lay  — 
This  day  alone  ?     Methinks  of  coming  life 
Somewhat  I  know,  with  all  its  loss  and  strife. 

"  But  this  I  know,  at  least :  the  world  shall  wend 
Upon  its  way,  and,  gathering  joy  and  grief 
And  deeds  done,  bear  them  with  it  to  the  end ; 
So  shall  it,  though  I  lie  as  last  year's  leaf 
Lies  'neath  a  siimmer  tree,  at  least  receive 
My  life  gone  by,  and  store  it,  with  the  gain 
That  men  alive  call  striving,  wrong,  and  pain. 

"  So  for  my  part  I  rather  bless  than  curse, 
And  bless  this  fateful  land ;  good  be  with  it ; 
Nor  for  this  deadly  thing's  death  is  it  worse, 
Nor  for  the  lack  of  gold ;  still  shall  ye  sit 
Watching  the  swallow  o'er  the  daisies  flit ; 
Still  shall  your  wandering  limbs  ere  day  is  done 
Make  dawn  desired  by  the  sinking  sun. 

"  And  now,  behold !  in  memory  of  all  this 
Take  ye  this  girdle  that  shall  waste  and  fade 
As  fadetii  not  your  fairness  and  your  bliss. 
That  when  hereafter  'mid  the  blossoms  laid 
Ye  talk  of  days  and  men  now  nothing  made. 
Ye  may  remember  how  the  Theban  man. 
The  son  of  Jove,  came  o'er  the  waters  wan." 

Their  faces  changed  not  aught  for  all  they  heard ; 
As  though  all  things  now  fully  told  out  were. 
They  gazed  upon  him  without  any  word : 
Ah !  craving  kindness,  hope,  or  loving  care. 
Their  fairness  scarcely  could  have  made  more  fair, 
As  with  the  apples  folded  in  his  fell 
He  went,  to  do  more  deeds  for  folk  to  tell. 

Now  as  the  girdle  on  the  ground  was  cast. 
Those  fellows  turned  aird  hurried  toward  the  door ; 
An-d  as  across  its  broken  leaves  they  passed 


THE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  373 

The  old  man  saw  they  not,  e'en  as  before ; 
But  an  unearthed  blind  mole  bewildered  sore 
Was  wandering  there  in  fruitless,  aimless  wise, 
That  got  small  heed  from  their  full-sated  eyes. 

Swift  gat  they  to  their  anxious  folk ;  nor  had 
More  time  than  just  to  say,  "Be  of  good  cheer, 
For  in  our  own  land  may  we  yet  be  glad," 
When  they  beheld  the  guests  a  drawing  near ; 
And  much  bewildered  the  two  fellows  were 
To  see  the  old  man,  and  must  even  deem 
That  they  should  see  things  stranger  than  a  dream. 

But  when  they  Avere  aboard  the  elder  cried, 
"  Up  sails,  my  masters,  fair  now  is  the  wind ; 
Nor  good  it  is  too  long  here  to  abide, 
Lest  what  ye  may  not  loose  your  souls  should  bind." 
And  as  he  spake,  the  tall  trees  left  behind 
Stirred  with  the  rising  land  wind,  and  the  crew. 
Joyous  thereat,  the  hawsers  shipward  drew. 

Swift  sped  the  ship,  and  glad  at  heart  were  all, 
And  the  Strong  Man  was  merry  with  the  rest, 
And  from  the  elder's  lips  no  word  did  fall 
That  did  not  seem  to  promise  all  the  best ; 
Yet  with  a  certain  awe  were  men  oppressed. 
And  felt  as  if  their  inmost  hearts  Avere  bare. 
And  each  man's  secret  babbled  through  the  air. 

Still  oft  the  old  man  sat  with  them  and  told 
Tales  of  past  time,  as  on  the  outward  way ; 
And  now  would  they  the  face  of  him  behold 
And  deem  it  changed  ;  the  years  that  on  him  lay 
Seemed  to  grow  naught,  and  no  more  wan  and  gray 
He  looked,  but  ever  glorious,  wise  and  strong. 
As  though  no  lapse  of  time  for  him  were  long. 

At  last,  when  six  days  through  the  kindly  sea 
Their  keel  had  slipped,  he  said :  "  Come  hearken  now. 
For  so  it  is  that  things  fare  wondrously 
E'en  in  these  days ;  and  I  a  tale  can  show 
That,  told  by  you  unto  your  sons  shall  grow 
A  marvel  of  the  days  that  are  to  come : 
Take  heed  and  tell  it  when  ye  reach  your  home. 


374  THE  GOLDEN   APPLES. 

"  Yet  living  in  the  world  a  man  there  is 
Men  call  the  Theban  King  Amphitryon's  son, 
Although  perchance  a  greater  sire  was  his ; 
But  certainly  his  lips  have  hung  upon 
Alcmena's  breasts  :  great  deeds  this  man  hath  won 
Already,  for  his  name  is  Hercules, 
And  e'en  ye  Asian  folk  have  heard  of  these. 

"Now  ere  the  moon,  this  eve  in  his  last  wane, 
Was  born,  this  Hercules,  the  fated  thrall 
Of  King  Eurystheus,  was  straight  bid  to  gain 
Gifts  from  a  land  Avhereon  no  foot  doth  fall 
Of  mortal  man,  beyond  the  misty  wall 
Of  unknown  waters ;  pensively  he  went 
Along  the  sea  on  his  hard  life  intent. 

"  And  at  the  dawn  he  came  into  a  bay 
Where  the  sea,  ebbed  far  down,  left  wastes  of  sand, 
Walled  from  the  green  earth  by  great  cliffs  and  gray ; 
Then  he  looked  up,  and  wondering  there  did  stand, 
For  strange  things  lay  in  slumber  on  the  strand ; 
Strange  counterparts  of  what  the  firm  earth  hath 
Lay  scattered  all  about  his  weary  path : 

"  Sea  lions  and  sea  horses  and  sea  kine, 
Sea  boars,  sea  men  strange  skinned,  of  wondrous  hair ; 
And  in  their  midst  a  man  who  seemed  divine 
For  changeless  eld,  and  round  him  women  fair, 
Clad  in  the  sea  webs  glassy  green  and  clear. 
With  gems  on  head  and  girdle,  limb  and  breast, 
Such  as  earth  knoweth  not  among  her  best. 

"  A  moment  at  the  fair  and  wondrous  sight 
He  stared ;  then,  since  the  heart  in  him  was  good, 
He  went  about  with  careful  steps  and  light 
Till  o'er  the  sleeping  sea  god  now  he  stood ; 
And  if  the  white-foot  maids  had  stirred  his  blood 
As  he  passed  by,  now  other  thoughts  had  place 
Within  his  heart  when  he  beheld  that  face. 

"  For  Nereus  now  he  knew,  who  knows  all  things  _ 
And  to  himself  he  said,  '  If  I  prevail, 
Better  than  by  some  god-wrought  eagle  wings 
Shall  I  be  holpen ; '  then  he  cried  out :  '  Hail, 
0  Nereus !  lord  of  shifting  hill  and  dale ! 


THE   GOLDEN   APPLES.  876 

Arise  and  wrestle  ;  I  am  Hercules ! 

Not  soon  now  shalt  thou  meet  the  ridgy  seas.' 

"  And  mightily  he  cast  himself  on  him ; 
And  Nereus  cried  out  shrilly ;  and  straightway 
That  sleeping  crowd,  fair  maid  with  half-hid  limb, 
Strange  man  and  green-haired  beast,  made  no  delay, 
But  glided  down  into  the  billows  gray, 
And,  by  the  lovely  sea  embraced,  were  gone, 
While  they  two  wrestled  on  the  sea  strand  lone. 

"  Soon  found  the  sea  god  that  his  bodily  might 
Was  naught  in  dealing  with  Jove's  dear  one  there ; 
And  soon  he  'gan  to  use  his  magic  sleight: 
Into  a  lithe  leopard,  and  a  hugging  bear, 
He  turned  him ;  then  the  smallest  fowl  of  air 
The  straining  arms  of  Hercules  must  hold, 
And  then  a  mud-born  wriggling  eel  and  cold. 

"  Then  as  the  firm  hands  mastered  this,  forth  brake 
A  sudden  rush  of  waters  all  around. 
Blinding  and  choking :  then  a  thin  green  snake 
With  golden  eyes ;  then  o'er  the  shell-strewn  ground 
Forth  stole  a  fly,  the  least  that  may  be  found ; 
Then  earth  and  heaven  seemed  wrapped  in  one  huge  flame. 
But  from  the  midst  thereof  a  voice  there  came  : 

"'Kinsman  and  stout  heart,  thou  hast  won  the  day, 
Nor  to  my  grief :  what  wouldst  thou  have  of  me  ? ' 
And  therewith  to  an  old  man  small  and  gray 
Faded  the  roaring  flame,  who  Avearily 
Sat  down  upon  the  sand  and  said,  '  Let  be ! 
I  know  thy  tale ;  worthy  of  help  thou  art ; 
Come  now,  a  short  way  hence  will  there  depart 

" '  A  ship  of  Tyre  for  the  warm  southern  seas, 
Come  we  aboard ;  according  to  my  will 
Her  way  shall  be.'     Then  up  rose  Hercules, 
Merry  of  face,  though  hot  and  panting  still ; 
But  the  fair  summer  day  his  heart  did  fill 
With  all  delight ;  and  so  forth  went  the  twain, 
And  found  those  men  desirous  of  all  gain. 

"  Ah,  for  these  gainful  men  —  somewhat  indeed 
Their  sails  ?a-e  rent,  their  bark  beat ;  kin  and  friend 
Are  wearying  for  them  ;  yet  a  friend  in  need 


376  THE   GOLDEN   APPLES. 

They  yet  shall  gain,  if  at  their  journey's  end, 
Upon  the  last  ness  where  the  wild  goats  wend 
To  lick  the  salt-washed  stones,  a  house  they  raise 
Bedight  with  gold  in  kindly  Nereus'  praise." 

Breathless  they  waited  for  these  latest  words, 
That  like  the  soft  wind  of  the  gathering  night 
Were  grown  to  be :  about  the  mast  flew  birds 
Making  their  moan,  hovering  long-winged  and  white ; 
And  now  before  their  straining  anxious  sight 
The  old  man  faded  out  into  the  air, 
And  from  his  place  flew  forth  a  sea  mew  fair. 

Then  to  the  Mighty  Man,  Alcmena's  son. 
With  yearning  hearts  they  turned  till  he  should  speak. 
And  he  spake  softly :  "  Naught  ill  have  ye  done 
In  helping  me  to  find  what  I  did  seek : 
The  world  made  better  by  me  knows  if  weak 
My  hand  and  heart  are  :  but  now,  light  the  fire 
Upon  the  prow  and  worship  the  gray  sire." 

So  did  they ;  and  such  gifts  as  there  they  had 
Gave  unto  Nereus ;  yea,  and  sooth  to  say, 
Amid  the  tumult  of  their  hearts  made  glad. 
Had  honored  Hercules  in  e'en  such  way ; 
But  he  laughed  out  amid  them,  and  said,  "  Nay, 
Not  yet  the  end  is  come ;  nor  have  I  yet 
Bowed  down  before  vain  longing  and  regret. 

'*  It  may  be  —  who  shall  tell,  when  I  go  back 
There  whence  I  came,  and  looking  down  behold 
The  place  that  my  once  eager  heart  shall  lack. 
And  all  my  dead  desires  a  lying  cold. 
But  I  may  have  the  might  then  to  enfold 
The  hopes  of  brave  men  in  my  heart  ?  —  but  long  life 
Lies  before  first  with  its  change  and  wrong." 

So  fair  <;long  the  watery  ways  they  sped 
In  happy  wL'-e,  nor  failed  of  their  return ; 
Nor  failed  in  ancient  Tyre  the  ways  to  tread. 
Teaching  their  tale  to  whomsoe'er  would  learn. 
Nor  failed  at  last  the  flesh  of  beasts  to  burn 
In  Nereus'  house,  turned  toward  the  bright  day's  end 
On  the  last  ness,  round  which  the  wild  goats  wend. 


ODE  ON   A  GRECIAN  URN.  377 

ODE   ON   A   GRECIAN   URN. 

By  JOHN  KEATS. 

[John  Keats  :  An  English  poet,  sometimes  called  "  The  Poets'  Poet ";  born 
at  Moorsfield,  London,  October  31,  1795 ;  died  at  Rome,  Italy,  February  23, 1821. 
His  first  poem,  "  Endymion,"  was  issued  when  he  was  twenty-three.  It  has 
beautiful  passages,  but  the  story  is  very  difficult  to  follow,  and  Ls  mainly  a 
vehicle  for  luscious  verbal  music.  Its  promise  was  more  than  fulfilled  in  his 
second  volume,  published  in  1820,  and  containing  many  noble  sonnets,  the  im- 
mortal "Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn,"  "The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes,"  etc.  His  highest 
flight  was  reached  in  the  sublime  "  Hyperion,"  but  he  had  no  constructive  im- 
agination and  let  it  drop  after  the  first  canto.  He  had  enormous  effect  on  the 
coming  poets  of  his  time,  and  Tennyson  was  his  thoroughgoing  disciple.  The 
"  Love  Letters  to  Fanny  Brawne  "  appeared  in  1878  ;  his  "  Letters  to  his  Family 
and  Friends"  in  1891.] 

Thou  still  unravished  bride  of  quietness, 

Thou  foster  child  of  silence  and  slow  time, 
Sylvan  historian,  who  canst  thus  express 

A  flowery  tale  more  sweetly  than  our  rhyme : 
What  leaf -fringed  legend  haunts  about  thy  shape 

Of  deities  or  mortals,  or  of  both, 
In  Tempe  or  the  dales  of  Arcady  ? 

What  men  or  gods  are  these  ?     What  maidens  loath  ? 
What  mad  pursuit  ?     What  struggle  to  escape  ? 

What  pipes  and  timbrels  ?     What  wild  ecstasy  ? 

Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard 

Are  sweeter ;  therefore,  ye  soft  pipes,  play  on ; 
Not  to  the  sensual  ear,  but,  more  endeared, 

Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone  : 
Fair  youth,  beneath  the  trees,  thou  canst  not  leave 

Thy  song,  nor  ever  can  those  trees  be  bare; 
Bold  Lover,  never,  never  canst  thou  kiss. 
Though  winning  near  the  goal  —  yet,  do  not  grieve ; 

She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not  thy  bliss, 
Forever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair ! 

Ah,  happy,  happy  boughs !  that  cannot  shed 
Your  leaves,  nor  ever  bid  the  Spring  adieu ; 

And,  happy  melodist,  unwearied, 
Forever  piping  songs  forever  new ; 

More  happy  love !  more  happy,  happy  love ! 
Forever  warm  and  still  to  be  enjoyed. 
Forever  panting,  and  forever  young ; 


378  HYMN  TO  MINERVA. 

All  breathing  human  passion  far  above, 

That  leaves  a  heart  high-sorrowful  and  cloyed, 
A  burning  forehead,  and  a  parching  tongue. 

Who  are  these  coming  to  the  sacrifice  ? 

To  what  green  altar,  0  mysterious  priest, 
Lead'st  thou  that  heifer  lowing  at  the  skies. 

And  all  her  silken  flanks  with  garlands  drest? 
What  little  town  by  river  or  seashore, 

Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel. 
Is  emptied  of  this  folk,  this  pious  morn  ? 
And,  little  town,  thy  streets  for  evermore 

Will  silent  be ;  and  not  a  soul  to  tell 
Why  thou  art  desolate,  can  e'er  return. 

0  Attic  shape !     Fair  attitude !  with  brede 

Of  marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought. 
With  forest  branches  and  the  trodden  weed ; 

Thou,  silent  form,  dost  tease  us  out  of  thought 
As  doth  eternity  :  Cold  Pastoral ! 

When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste. 
Thou  shalt  remain,  in  midst  of  other  woe 
Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou  say'st; 

"  Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty,"  —  that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 


HYMN  TO   MINERVA. 

Atteibutbd  to  Homer  ;   Translated  by  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEl 

I  SING  the  glorious  power  with  azure  eyes, 

Athenian  Pallas,  tameless,  chaste,  and  wise, 

Tritogenia,  town-preserving  maid, 

Revered  and  mighty  from  his  awful  head 

Whom  Jove  brought  forth,  in  warlike  armor  dressed, 

Golden,  all  radiant.     Wonder  strange  possessed 

The  everlasting  Gods  that  shape  to  see. 

Shaking  a  javelin  keen,  impetuously 

Rush  from  the  crest  of  aegis-bearing  Jove. 

Fearfully  heaven  was  shaken,  and  did  move 

Beneath  the  might  of  the  cerulean-eyed ; 

Earth  dreadfully  resounded,  far  and  wide ; 

And,  lifted  from  his  depths,  the  Sea  swelled  high 


THE   GORGON'S   HEAD.  37£ 

In  purple  billows ;  the  tide  suddenly 

Stood  still;  and  great  Hyperion's  Son  long  time 

Checked  his  swift  steeds :  till,  where  she  stood  sublime, 

Pallas  from  her  immortal  shoulders  threw 

The  arms  divine.     Wise  Jove  rejoiced  to  view. 

Child  of  the  aegis  bearer,  hail  to  thee  ! 

Nor  thine  nor  others'  praise  shall  unremembered  be. 


THE   GORGON'S   HEAD. 

By    NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE. 

[Nathaniel  Hawthorne:  American  storj'-writcr ;  born  at  Salem,  Mass., 
July  4,  180i  ;  died  at  Plymouth,  N.H.,  May  19,  18(34.  His  official  po.sitions,  in 
the  customhouse  at  Salem  and  as  United  States  consul  at  Liverpool,  furnished 
him  with  many  opportunities  for  the  study  of  human  nature.  His  literary 
popularity  was  of  slow  growth,  but  was  founded  on  the  eternal  verities.  His 
most  famous  novels  are  "  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  1850 ;  "  The  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,"  18-31;  "The  Blithedale  Romance,"  1852;  "The  Marble  Faun,"  1860; 
"  Septimius  Felton,"  posthumous.  He  wrote  a  great  number  of  short  stories, 
inimitable  in  style  and  full  of  weird  imagination.  "Twice-told  Tales,"  first 
series,  appeared  in  1837;  "The  Snow  Image  and  Other  Twice-told  Tales,"  in 
1852  ;  "  Tanglewood  Tales,"  in  1863.] 

Perseus  was  the  son  of  Danae,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a 
king,  and  when  Perseus  was  a  very  little  boy  some  wicked 
people  put  his  mother  and  himself  into  a  chest  and  set  them 
afloat  upon  the  sea.  The  wind  blew  freshly  and  drove  the 
chest  away  from  the  shore,  and  the  uneasy  billows  tossed  it 
up  and  down,  while  Danae  clasped  her  child  closely  to  her 
bosom,  and  dreaded  that  some  big  wave  would  dash  its  foamy 
crest  over  them  both.  The  chest  sailed  on,  however,  and 
neither  sank  nor  was  upset,  until,  when  night  was  coming,  it 
floated  so  near  an  island  that  it  got  entangled  in  a  fisherman's 
nets  and  was  drawn  out  high  and  dry  upon  the  sand.  The 
island  was  called  Seriphus,  and  it  was  reigned  over  by  King 
Polydectes,  who  happened  to  be  the  fisherman's  brother. 

This  fisherman,  I  am  glad  to  tell  you,  was  an  exceedingly 
humane  and  upright  man.  He  showed  great  kindness  to  Danae 
and  her  little  boy,  and  continued  to  befriend  them  until  Per- 
seus had  grown  to  be  a  handsome  youth,  very  strong  and  active 
and  skillful  in  the  use  of  arms.  Long  before  this  time  King 
Polydectes  had  seen  the  two  strangers  —  the  mother  and  her 


380  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

child  —  who  had  come  to  his  dominions  in  a  floating  chest.  As 
he  was  not  good  and  kind  like  his  brother  the  fisherman,  but 
extremely  wicked,  he  resolved  to  send  Perseus  on  a  dangerous 
enterprise  in  which  he  would  probably  be  killed,  and  then  to 
do  some  great  mischief  to  Danae  herself.  So  this  bad-hearted 
king  spent  a  long  while  in  considering  what  was  the  most  dan- 
gerous thing  that  a  young  man  could  possibly  undertake  to 
perform.  At  last,  having  hit  upon  an  enterprise  that  promised 
to  turn  out  as  fatally  as  he  desired,  he  sent  for  the  youthful 
Perseus. 

The  young  man  came  to  the  palace,  and  found  the  king 
sitting  upon  his  throne. 

"  Perseus,"  said  King  Polydectes,  smiling  craftily  upon  him, 
"you  are  grown  up  a  fine  young  man.  You  and  your  good 
mother  have  received  a  great  deal  of  kindness  from  myself,  as 
well  as  from  my  worthy  brother  the  fisherman,  and  I  suppose 
you  would  not  be  sorry  to  repay  some  of  it." 

"Please,  your  majesty,"  answered  Perseus,  "I  would  will- 
ingly risk  my  life  to  do  so." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  king,  still  with  a  cunning  smile 
on  his  lips,  "  I  have  a  little  adventure  to  propose  to  you  ;  and, 
as  you  are  a  brave  and  enterprising  youth,  you  will  doubtless 
look  upon  it  as  a  great  piece  of  good  luck  to  have  so  rare  an 
opportunity  of  distinguishing  yourself.  You  must  know,  m}' 
good  Perseus,  I  think  of  getting  married  to  the  beautiful  Prin- 
cess Hippodamia,  and  it  is  customary  on  these  occasions  to 
make  the  bride  a  present  of  some  far-fetched  and  elegant  curi- 
osity. I  have  been  a  little  perplexed,  I  must  honestly  confess, 
where  to  obtain  anything  likely  to  please  a  princess  of  her 
exquisite  taste.  But  this  morning,  I  flatter  myself,  I  have 
thought  of  precisely  the  article." 

"And  can  I  assist  your  majesty  in  obtaining  it?"  cried 
Perseus,  eagerly. 

"  You  can,  if  you  are  as  brave  a  youth  as  I  believe  you  to 
be,"  replied  King  Polj^dectes,  vnth.  the  utmost  graciousness  of 
manner.  "  The  bridal  gift  which  I  have  set  my  heart  on  pre- 
senting to  the  beautiful  Hippodamia  is  the  head  of  the  Gorgon 
Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks,  and  I  depend  on  you,  my  dear 
Perseus,  to  bring  it  to  me.  So,  as  I  am  anxious  to  settle  affairs 
with  the  princess,  the  sooner  you  go  in  quest  of  the  Gorgon 
the  better  I  shall  be  pleased." 

"  I  will  set  out  to-morrow  morning,"  answered  Perseus. 


The  Gorgon's  Head 


THE   GORGON'S  HEAD.  881 

"  Pray  do  so,  my  gallant  youth,"  rejoined  the  king.  "  And, 
Perseus,  in  cutting  off  the  Gorgon's  head  be  careful  to  make  a 
clean  stroke,  so  as  not  to  injure  its  appearance.  You  must  bring 
it  home  in  the  very  best  condition  in  order  to  suit  the  exquisite 
taste  of  the  beautiful  Princess  Hippodamia." 

Perseus  left  the  palace,  but  was  scarcely  out  of  hearing 
before  Polydectes  burst  into  a  laugh,  being  greatly  amused, 
wicked  king  that  he  was,  to  find  how  readily  the  young  man 
fell  into  the  snare.  The  news  quickly  spread  abroad  that  Per- 
seus had  undertaken  to  cut  off  the  head  of  Medusa  with  the 
snaky  locks.  Everybody  was  rejoiced,  for  most  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  island  were  as  wicked  as  the  king  liimself,  and 
would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  see  some  enormous 
mischief  happen  to  Danae  and  her  son.  The  only  good  man  in 
this  unfortunate  island  of  Seriphus  appears  to  have  been  the 
fisherman.  As  Perseus  walked  along,  tlierefore,  the  people 
pointed  after  him,  and  made  mouths,  and  winked  to  one 
another,  and  ridiculed  him  as  loudly  as  they  dared. 

"  Ho,  ho !  "  cried  they ;  "  Medusa's  snakes  will  sting  him 
soundly  !  " 

Now,  there  were  three  Gorgons  alive  at  that  period,  and 
they  were  the  most  strange  and  terrible  monsters  that  had  ever 
been  seen  since  the  world  was  made,  or  that  have  been  seen  in 
after  days,  or  that  are  likely  to  be  seen  in  all  time  to  come.  I 
hardly  know  what  sort  of  creature  or  hobgoblin  to  call  them. 
They  were  three  sisters,  and  seem  to  have  borne  some  distant 
resemblance  to  woman,  but  were  really  a  very  frightful  and 
mischievous  species  of  dragon.  It  is  indeed  difficult  to  imagine 
what  hideous  beings  these  three  sisters  were.  Why,  instead  of 
locks  of  hair,  if  you  can  believe  me,  they  had  each  of  them  a 
hundred  enormous  snakes  growing  on  their  heads,  all  alive, 
twisting,  wriggling,  curling,  and  thrusting  out  their  venomous 
tongues  with  forked  stings  at  the  end.  The  teeth  of  the  Gor- 
gons were  terribly  long  tusks  ;  their  hands  were  made  of  brass  ; 
and  their  bodies  were  all  over  scales,  which,  if  not  iron,  were 
something  as  hard  and  impenetrable.  They  had  wings,  too, 
and  exceedingly  splendid  ones,  I  can  assure  you,  for  ever\' 
feather  in  them  was  pure,  bright,  glittering,  burnished  gold, 
and  they  looked  very  dazzling,  no  doubt,  when  the  Gorgons 
were  flying  about  in  the  sunshine. 

But  when  people  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  their  glit- 
tering brightness  aloft  in  the  air,  they  seldom  svopped  to  gaze, 


382  THE   GORGON'S   HEAD. 

but  ran  and  hid  themselves  as  speedily  as  they  could.  You 
will  think,  perhaps,  that  they  were  afraid  of  being  stung  by 
the  serpents  that  served  the  Gorgons  instead  of  hair,  or  of  hav- 
ing their  heads  bitten  off  by  their  ugly  tusks,  or  of  being  torn 
all  to  pieces  by  their  brazen  claws.  Well,  to  be  sure,  these 
were  some  of  the  dangers,  but  by  no  means  the  greatest  nor 
the  most  difficult  to  avoid.  For  the  worst  thing  about  these 
abominable  Gorgons  was  that  if  once  a  poor  mortal  fixed  his 
eyes  full  upon  one  of  their  faces,  he  was  certain  that  very 
instant  to  be  changed  from  warm  flesh  and  blood  into  cold 
and  lifeless  stone. 

Thus,  as  you  will  easily  perceive,  it  was  a  very  dangerou? 
adventure  that  the  wicked  King  Polydectes  had  contrived  foi 
this  innocent  young  man.  Perseus  himself,  when  he  had 
thought  over  the  matter,  could  not  help  seeing  that  he  had 
very  little  cliance  of  coming  safely  through  it,  and  that  he  was 
tar  more  likely  to  become  a  stone  image  than  to  bring  back  the 
head  of  Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks.  For,  not  to  speak  of 
other  difficulties,  there  was  one  which  it  would  have  puzzled 
an  older  man  than  Perseus  to  get  over.  Not  only  must  he 
tight  with  and  slay  tliis  golden-winged,  iron-scaled,  long-tusked, 
brazen-clawed,  snaky-haired  monster,  but  he  must  do  it  with 
his  eyes  shut,  or  at  least  ^vithout  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the 
enemy  with  whom  he  was  contending.  Else,  while  his  arm 
was  lifted  to  strike,  he  would  stiffen  into  stone,  and  stand  with 
that  uplifted  arm  for  centuries,  until  time  and  the  wind  and 
weather  should  crumble  him  quite  away.  This  would  be  a  very 
sad  thing  to  befall  a  young  man  who  wanted  to  perform  a  great 
many  brave  deeds  and  to  enjoy  a  great  deal  of  happiness  in 
this  bright  and  beautiful  world. 

So  disconsolate  did  these  thoughts  make  him  that  Perseus 
could  not  bear  to  tell  his  mother  what  he  had  undertaken  to  do. 
He  therefore  took  his  shield,  girded  on  his  sword,  and  crossed 
over  from  the  island  to  the  mainland,  where  he  sat  down  in  a 
solitary  place  and  hardly  refrained  from  shedding  tears. 

But  while  he  was  in  this  sorrowful  mood  he  heard  a  voice 
close  beside  him. 

"Perseus,"  said  the  voice,  "why  are  you  sad?" 

He  lifted  his  head  from  his  hands,  in  which  he  had  hidden 
it,  and,  behold !  all  alone  as  Perseus  had  supposed  himself  to 
be,  there  was  a  stranger  in  the  solitary  place.  It  was  a  brisk, 
intelligent,  and  remarkably  shrewd -looking  young  man,  with 


THE  GORGON'S   HEAD.  388 

a  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  an  odd  sort  of  cap  on  his  head,  a 
strangely  twisted  staff  in  his  hand,  and  a  short  and  very- 
crooked  sword  lianging  by  his  side.  He  was  exceeding  light 
and  active  in  his  figure,  like  a  person  much  accustomed  to  gym- 
nastic exercises  and  well  able  to  leap  or  run.  Above  all,  the 
stranger  had  such  a  cheerful,  knowing,  and  helpful  aspect 
(though  it  was  certainly  a  little  mischievous  into  the  bargain) 
that  Perseus  could  not  help  feeling  his  spirits  grow  livelier  as 
lie  gazed  at  him.  Besides,  being  really  a  courageous  youth,  he 
felt  greatly  ashamed  that  anybody  should  have  found  him  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  like  a  timid  little  schoolboy,  when,  after  all, 
there  might  be  no  occasion  for  despair.  So  Perseus  wiped  his 
eyes  and  answered  the  stranger  pretty  briskly,  putting  on  as 
brave  a  look  as  he  could. 

"  1  am  not  so  very  sad,"  said  he ;  "  only  thoughtful  about 
an  adventure  that  I  have  undertaken." 

"  Oho  !  "  answered  the  stranger.  "  Well,  tell  me  all  about 
it,  and  possibly  I  may  be  of  service  to  you.  I  have  helped  a 
good  many  young  men  through  adventures  that  looked  difficult 
enough  beforehand.  Perhaps  you  may  have  heard  of  me.  I 
have  more  names  than  one,  but  the  name  of  Quicksilver  suits 
me  as  well  as  any  other.  Tell  me  what  your  trouble  is,  and 
we  will  talk  the  matter  over  and  see  what  can  be  done." 

The  stranger's  words  and  manner  put  Perseus  into  quite  a 
different  mood  from  his  former  one.  He  resolved  to  tell  Quick- 
silver all  his  difficulties,  since  he  could  not  easily  be  worse  off 
than  he  already  was,  and  very  possibly  his  new  friend  might 
give  him  some  advice  that  would  turn  out  well  in  the  end.  So 
he  let  the  stranger  know,  in  few  words,  precisely  what  the  case 
was  —  how  that  King  Polydectes  wanted  the  head  of  Medusa 
with  the  snaky  locks  as  a  bridal  gift  for  the  beautiful  Princess 
Hippodamia,  and  how  that  he  had  undertaken  to  get  it  for  him, 
but  was  afraid  of  being  turned  into  stone. 

"  And  that  would  be  a  great  pity,"  said  Quicksilver,  with 
his  mischievous  smile.  "  You  would  make  a  very  handsome 
marble  statue,  it  is  true,  and  it  would  be  a  considerable  number 
of  centuries  before  you  crumbled  away,  but,  on  the  whole,  one 
would  rather  be  a  young  man  for  a  few  years  than  a  stone 
image  for  a  great  many." 

"  Oh,  far  rather  I  "  exclaimed  Perseus,  with  the  tears  again 
standing  in  his  eyes.  "And,  besides,  what  would  my  dear 
R  other  do  if  her  beloved  son  were  turned  into  a  stone  ?  " 


384  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

"  Well,  well !  let  us  hope  that  the  affair  will  not  turn  out 
so  very  badly,"  replied  Quicksilver  in  an  encouraging  tone. 
"  I  am  the  very  person  to  help  you,  if  anybody  can.  My  sister 
and  myself  will  do  our  utmost  to  bring  you  safe  through  the 
adventure,  ugly  as  it  now  looks." 

"Your  sister?"  repeated  Perseus. 

"  Yes,  my  sister,"  said  the  stranger.  "  She  is  very  wise,  I 
promise  you  ;  and  as  for  myself,  I  generally  have  all  my  wits 
about  me,  such  as  they  are.  If  you  show  yourself  bold  and 
cautious  and  follow  our  advice,  you  need  not  fear  being  a  stone 
image  yet  a  while.  But,  first  of  all,  you  must  polish  your 
shield  till  you  can  see  your  face  in  it  as  distinctly  as  in  a 
mirror." 

This  seemed  to  Perseus  rather  an  odd  beginning  of  the 
adventure,  for  he  thought  it  of  far  more  consequence  that  the 
shield  should  be  strong  enough  to  defend  him  from  the  Gorgons' 
brazen  claws  than  that  it  should  be  bright  enough  to  show  him 
the  reflection  of  his  face.  However,  concluding  that  Quick- 
silver knew  better  than  himself,  he  immediately  set  to  work 
and  scrubbed  the  shield  with  so  much  diligence  and  good  will 
that  it  very  quickly  shone  like  the  moon  at  harvest  time. 
Quicksilver  looked  at  it  with  a  smile  and  nodded  his  approba- 
tion. Then,  taking  off  his  own  short  and  crooked  sword,  he 
girded  it  about  Perseus,  instead  of  the  one  which  he  had  before 
worn. 

"  No  sword  but  mine  will  answer  your  purpose,"  observed 
he  ;  "  the  blade  has  a  most  excellent  temper,  and  will  cut 
through  iron  and  brass  as  easily  as  through  the  slenderest  twig. 
And  now  we  will  set  out.  The  next  thing  is  to  find  the  Three 
Gray  Women,  who  will  tell  us  where  to  find  the  Nymphs." 

"  The  Three  Gray  Women  !  "  cried  Perseus,  to  whom  this 
seemed  only  a  new  difficulty  in  the  path  of  his  adventure  ; 
"  pray,  who  may  the  Three  Gray  Women  be  ?  I  never  heard 
of  them  before." 

"  They  are  three  very  strange  old  ladies,"  said  Quicksilver, 
laughing.  "  They  have  but  one  eye  among  them,  and  only  one 
tooth.  Moreover,  you  must  find  them  out  by  starlight  or  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening,  for  they  never  show  themselves  by  the 
light  either  of  the  sun  or  moon." 

"  But,"  said  Perseus,  "  why  should  I  waste  my  time  with 
these  Three  Gray  Women  ?  Would  it  not  be  better  to  set  out 
at  once  in  search  of  the  terrible  Gorgons  ?  " 


THE   GORGON'S   HEAD.  385 

"  No,  no,"  answered  his  friend.  "  There  are  other  things  to 
be  done  before  you  can  find  your  way  to  the  Gorgons.  There 
is  nothing  for  it  but  to  hunt  up  these  old  ladies,  and  when 
we  meet  with  them  you  may  be  sure  that  the  Gorgons  are 
not  a  great  way  off.     Come,  let  us  be  stirring." 

Perseus  by  this  time  felt  so  much  confidence  in  his  com- 
panion's sagacity  that  he  made  no  more  objections,  and  pro- 
fessed himself  ready  to  begin  the  adventure  immediately. 
They  accordingly  set  out  and  walked  at  a  pretty  brisk  pace — • 
so  brisk,  indeed,  that  Perseus  found  it  rather  difficult  to  keep 
up  with  his  nimble  friend  Quicksilver.  To  say  the  truth,  he 
}iad  a  singular  idea  that  Quicksilver  was  furnished  with  a  pair 
of  winged  shoes,  which  of  course  helped  him  along  marvelously. 
And  then,  too,  when  Perseus  looked  sideways  at  him  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye,  he  seemed  to  see  wings  on  the  side  of  his 
head,  although,  if  he  turned  a  full  gaze,  there  were  no  such 
things  to  be  perceived,  but  only  an  odd  kind  of  cap.  But,  at 
all  events,  the  twisted  staff  was  evidently  a  great  convenience 
to  Quicksilver,  and  enabled  him  to  proceed  so  fast  that  Perseus, 
though  a  remarkably  active  young  man,  began  to  be  out  of 
breath. 

"  Here  !  "  cried  Quicksilver  at  last  —  for  he  knew  well 
enough,  rogue  that  he  was,  how  hard  Perseus  found  it  to  keep 
pace  with  him  —  "  take  you  the  staff,  for  you  need  it  a  great 
deal  more  than  I.  Are  there  no  better  walkers  than  yourself 
in  the  island  of  Seriphus  ?  " 

"  I  could  walk  pretty  well,"  said  Perseus,  glancing  slyly  at 
his  companion's  feet,  "if  I  had  only  a  pair  of  winged  shoes." 

"  We  must  see  about  getting  you  a  pair,"  answered  Quick- 
silver. 

But  the  staff  helped  Perseus  along  so  bravely  that  he  no 
longer  felt  the  slightest  weariness.  In  fact,  the  stick  seemed 
to  be  alive  in  his  hand,  and  to  lend  some  of  its  life  to  Perseus. 
He  and  Quicksilver  now  walked  onward  at  their  ease,  talking 
very  sociably  together,  and  Quicksilver  told  so  many  pleasant 
stories  about  his  former  adventures,  and  how  well  his  wits  had 
served  him  on  various  occasions,  that  Perseus  began  to  think 
him  a  very  wonderful  person.  He  evidently  knew  the  world, 
and  nobody  is  so  charming  to  a  young  man  as  a  friend  who  has 
that  kind  of  knowledge.  Perseus  listened  the  more  eagerly  in 
the  hope  of  brightening  liis  own  wits  by  what  he  heard. 

At  last  he  happened  to  recollect  that  Quicksilver  had  spoken 


386  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

of  a  sister  who  was  to  lend  her  assistance  in  the  adventure  which 
they  were  now  bound  upon. 

"Where  is  she?"  he  inquired.  "Shall  we  not  meet  her 
soon  ?  " 

"  All  at  the  proper  time,"  said  his  companion.  "  But  this 
sister  of  mine,  you  must  understand,  is  quite  a  different  sort  of 
character  from  myself.  She  is  very  grave  and  prudent,  seldom 
smiles,  never  laughs,  and  makes  it  a  rule  not  to  utter  a  word 
unless  she  has  something  particularly  profound  to  say.  Neither 
will  she  listen  to  any  but  the  wisest  conversation." 

"  Dear  me  1  "  ejaculated  Perseus  ;  "  I  shall  be  afraid  to  say 
a  syllable." 

"  She  is  a  very  accomplished  person,  I  assure  you,"  con- 
tinued Quicksilver,  "and  has  all  the  arts  and  sciences  at  her 
fingers'  ends.  In  short,  she  is  so  immoderately  wise  that  many 
people  call  her  wisdom  personified.  But,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
she  has  hardly  vivacity  enough  for  my  taste,  and  I  think  you 
would  scarcely  find  her  so  pleasant  a  traveling  companion  as 
myself.  She  has  her  good  points,  nevertheless,  and  you  will 
find  the  benefit  of  them  in  your  encounter  with  the  Gor- 
gons." 

By  this  time  it  had  grown  quite  dusk.  They  were  now 
come  to  a  very  wild  and  desert  place,  overgrown  with  shaggy 
bushes,  and  so  silent  and  solitary  that  nobody  seemed  ever  to 
have  dwelt  or  journeyed  there.  All  was  waste  and  desolate 
in  the  gray  twilight,  which  grew  every  moment  more  obscure. 
Perseus  looked  about  him  rather  disconsolately,  and  asked 
Quicksilver  whether  they  had  a  great  deal  farther  to  go. 

"  Hist  !  hist !  "  whispered  his  companion.  "  Make  no 
noise.  This  is  just  the  time  and  place  to  meet  the  Three  Gray 
Women.  Be  careful  that  they  do  not  see  you  before  you  see 
them,  for,  though  they  have  but  a  single  eye  among  the  three, 
it  is  as  sharp-sighted  as  half  a  dozen  common  eyes." 

"  But  what  must  I  do,"  asked  Perseus,  "  when  we  meet 
them  ?  " 

Quicksilver  explained  to  Perseus  how  the  Three  Gray 
Women  managed  with  their  one  eye.  They  were  in  the  habit, 
it  seems,  of  changing  it  from  one  to  another,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  pair  of  spectacles  or  —  which  would  have  suited  them  better 
—  a  quizzing  glass.  When  one  of  the  three  had  kept  the  eye 
a  certain  time,  slie  took  it  out  of  the  socket  and  passed  it  to  one 
of  her  sisters  whose  turn  it  might  happen  to  be,  and  who  im- 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  387 

mediately  clapped  it  into  her  own  head  and  enjoyed  a  peep  at 
the  visible  world.  Thus  it  will  easily  be  understood  that  only 
one  of  the  Three  Gray  Women  could  see,  while  the  other  two 
were  in  utter  darkness  ;  and,  moreover,  at  the  instant  when  the 
eye  was  passing  from  hand  to  hand  neither  of  the  poor  old 
ladies  was  able  to  see  a  wink.  I  have  heard  of  a  great  many 
strange  things  in  my  day,  and  have  witnessed  not  a  few,  but 
none,  it  seems  to  me,  that  can  compare  with  the  oddity  of  these 
Three  Gray  Women  all  peeping  through  a  single  eye. 

So  thought  Perseus  likewise,  and  was  so  astonished  that  he 
almost  fancied  his  companion  was  joking  with  him,  and  that 
there  were  no  such  old  women  in  the  world. 

"  You  will  soon  find  whether  I  tell  the  truth  or  no,"  observed 
Quicksilver.  "  Hark !  hush  !  hist !  hist !  There  they  come, 
now !  " 

Perseus  looked  earnestly  through  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
and  there,  sure  enough,  at  no  great  distance  off,  he  descried 
the  Three  Gray  Women.  The  light  being  so  faint,  he  could 
not  well  make  out  what  sort  of  figures  they  were,  only  he  dis- 
covered that  they  had  long  gray  hair,  and  as  they  came  nearer 
he  saw  that  two  of  them  had  but  the  empty  socket  of  an  eye  in 
the  middle  of  their  foreheads.  But  in  the  middle  of  the  third 
sister's  forehead  there  was  a  very  large,  bright,  and  piercing 
eye,  which  sparkled  like  a  great  diamond  in  a  ring ;  and  so 
penetrating  did  it  seem  to  be  that  Perseus  could  not  help 
thinking  it  must  possess  the  gift  of  seeing  in  the  darkest 
midnight  just  as  perfectly  as  at  noonday.  The  sight  of 
three  persons'  eyes  was  melted  and  collected  into  that  single 
one. 

Thus  the  three  old  dames  got  along  about  as  comfortably, 
upon  the  whole,  as  if  they  could  all  see  at  once.  She  who 
chanced  to  have  the  eye  in  her  forehead  led  the  other  two 
by  the  hands,  peeping  sharply  about  her  all  the  while,  inso- 
much that  Perseus  dreaded  lest  she  should  see  right  through 
the  thick  clump  of  bushes  behind  which  he  and  Quicksilver  had 
hidden  themselves.  My  stars  !  it  was  positively  terrible  to  be 
within  reach  of  so  very  sharp  an  eye. 

But  before  they  reached  the  clump  of  bushes  one  of  the 
Three  Gray  Women  spoke. 

"  Sister  !  Sister  Scarecrow  !  "  cried  she,  "  you  have  had  the 
eye  long  enough.     It  is  my  turn  now  !  " 

"  Let  me  keep  it  a  moment  longer,  Sister  Nightmare,"  an- 


388  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

swered  Scarecrow.  "  I  thought  I  had  a  glimpse  of  something 
behind  that  thick  bush." 

"Well,  and  what  of  that?"  retorted  Nightmare,  peevishly. 
"  Can't  I  see  into  a  thick  bush  as  easily  as  yourself  ?  The  eye 
is  mine  as  well  as  yours,  and  I  know  the  use  of  it  as  well  as 
you,  or  maybe  a  little  better.  I  insist  upon  taking  a  peep 
immediately." 

But  here  the  third  sister,  whose  name  was  Shakejoint,  began 
to  complain,  and  said  that  it  was  her  turn  to  have  the  eye,  and 
that  Scarecrow  and  Nightmare  wanted  to  keep  it  all  to  them- 
selves. To  end  the  dispute,  old  Dame  Scarecrow  took  the  eye 
out  of  her  forehead  and  held  it  forth  in  her  hand. 

"  Take  it,  one  of  you,"  cried  she,  "  and  quit  this  foolish 
quarreling.  For  my  part,  I  shall  be  glad  of  a  little  thick  dark- 
ness. Take  it  quickly,  however,  or  I  must  clap  it  into  my  own 
head  again." 

Accordingly,  both  Nightmare  and  Shakejoint  stretched  out 
their  hands,  groping  eagerly  to  snatch  the  eye  out  of  the  hand 
of  Scarecrow.  But,  being  both  alike  blind,  they  could  not  easily 
find  where  Scarecrow's  hand  was ;  and  Scarecrow,  being  now 
just  as  much  in  the  dark  as  Shakejoint  and  Nightmare,  could 
not  at  once  meet  either  of  their  hands  in  order  to  put  the  eye 
into  it.  Thus  (as  you  will  see  with  half  an  eye,  my  wise  little 
auditors)  these  good  old  dames  had  fallen  into  a  strange  per- 
plexity. For,  though  the  eye  shone  and  glistened  like  a  star 
as  Scarecrow  held  it  out,  yet  the  Gray  Women  caught  not  the 
least  glimpse  of  its  light,  and  were,  all  three,  in  utter  darkness 
from  too  impatient  a  desire  to  see. 

Quicksilver  was  so  much  tickled  at  beholding  Shakejoint 
and  Nightmare  both  groping  for  the  eye,  and  each  finding  fault 
with  Scarecrow  and  with  one  another,  that  he  could  scarcely 
help  laughing  aloud. 

"  Now  is  your  time  I  "  he  whispered  to  Perseus.  "  Quick, 
quick  !  before  they  can  clap  the  eye  into  either  of  their  heads. 
Rush  out  upon  the  old  ladies  and  snatch  it  from  Scarecrow's 
hand." 

In  an  instant,  while  the  Three  Gray  Women  were  still 
scolding  each  other,  Perseus  leaped  from  behind  the  clump  of 
bushes  and  made  himself  master  of  the  prize.  The  marvelous 
eye,  as  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  shone  very  brightly,  and  seemed 
to  look  up  into  his  face  with  a  knowing  air,  and  an  expression 
as  if  it  would  have  winked  had  it  been  provided  with  a  pair  of 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  389 

eyelids  for  that  purpose.  But  the  Gray  Women  knew  nothing 
of  what  had  happened,  and,  each  supposing  that  one  of  lier 
sisters  was  in  possession  of  the  eye,  they  began  their  quarrel 
anew.  At  last,  as  Perseus  did  not  wish  to  put  these  respecta- 
ble dames  to  greater  inconvenience  than  was  really  necessary, 
he  thought  it  right  to  explain  the  matter. 

"  My  good  ladies,"  said  he,  "  pray  do  not  be  angry  with  one 
another.  If  anybody  is  in  fault,  it  is  myself,  for  I  have  the 
honor  to  hold  your  very  brilliant  and  excellent  eye  in  my  own 
hand." 

"  You  !  you  have  our  eye  ?  And  who  are  5'ou  ?  "  screamed 
the  Three  Gray  Women  all  in  a  breath,  for  they  were  terribly 
frightened,  of  course,  at  hearing  a  strange  voice  and  discover- 
ing that  their  eyesight  had  got  into  the  hands  of  they  could 
not  guess  whom.  "  Oh,  what  shall  we  do,  sisters  ?  what  shall 
we  do  ?  We  are  all  in  the  dark  !  Give  us  our  eye  !  Give  us 
our  one  precious,  solitary  eye  !  You  have  two  of  your  own  ! 
Give  us  our  eye  I  " 

"  Tell  them,"  whispered  Quicksilver  to  Perseus,  "  that  they 
shall  have  back  the  eye  as  soon  as  they  direct  you  where  to  find 
the  Nymphs  who  have  the  flying  slippers,  the  magic  wallet,  and 
the  helmet  of  darkness." 

"  My  dear,  good,  admirable  old  ladies,"  said  Perseus,  address- 
ing the  Gray  Women,  "  there  is  no  occasion  for  putting  your- 
selves into  such  a  fright.  I  am  by  no  means  a  bad  young  man. 
You  shall  have  back  your  eye,  safe  and  sound  and  as  bright  as 
ever,  the  moment  you  tell  me  where  to  find  the  Nymphs." 

"  The  Nymphs  !  Goodness  me  !  sisters,  what  Nymphs  does 
he  mean  ?  "  screamed  Scarecrow.  "  There  are  a  great  many 
Nymphs,  people  say  —  some  that  go  a  hunting  in  the  woods,  and 
some  that  live  inside  of  trees,  and  some  that  have  a  comfortable 
home  in  fountains  of  water.  We  know  nothing  at  all  about 
them.  We  are  three  unfortunate  old  souls  that  go  wandering 
about  in  the  dusk,  and  never  had  but  one  eye  among  us,  and 
that  one  you  have  stolen  away.  Oh,  give  it  back,  good  stranger  ! 
whoever  you  are,  give  it  back  !  " 

All  this  while  the  Three  Gray  Women  were  groping  with 
their  outstretched  hands  and  trying  their  utmost  to  get  hold  of 
Perseus,  but  he  took  good  care  to  keep  out  of  their  reach. 

"My  respectable  dames,"  said  he  —  for  his  mother  had  taught 
him  always  to  use  the  greatest  civility  —  "I  hold  your  eye  fast 
in  my  hand,  and  shall  keep  it  safely  for  you  until  you  please  to 


390  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

tell  me  where  to  find  these  Nymphs  —  the  Nymphs,  I  mean, 
who  keep  the  enchanted  wallet,  the  flying  slippers,  and  the  — • 
what  is  it  ?  —  the  helmet  of  invisibility." 

"Mercy  on  us,  sisters  !  wh;it  is  the  young  man  talking  about?  " 
exclaimed  Scarecrow,  Nightmare,  and  Shakejoint  one  to  another, 
with  great  appearance  of  astonishment.  "  A  pair  of  flying  slip- 
pers, quoth  he !  His  heels  would  quickly  fly  higher  than  his 
head  if  he  were  silly  enough  to  put  them  on.  And  a  helmet  of 
invisibility  !  How  could  a  helmet  make  him  invisible  unless  it 
were  big  enough  for  him  to  hide  under  it  ?  And  the  enchanted 
wallet !  What  sort  of  a  contrivance  may  that  be,  I  wonder  ? 
No,  no,  good  stranger !  we  can  tell  you  nothing  of  these  mar- 
velous things.  You  have  two  eyes  of  your  own,  and  we  but  a 
single  one  among  us  three.  You  can  find  out  such  wonders 
better  than  three  blind  old  creatures  like  us." 

Perseus,  hearing  them  talk  in  this  way,  began  really  to  think 
that  the  Gray  Women  knew  nothing  of  the  matter,  and,  as  it 
grieved  him  to  have  put  them  to  so  much  trouble,  he  was  just 
on  the  point  of  restoring  their  eye  and  asking  pardon  for  his 
rudeness  in  snatching  it  away.  But  Quicksilver  caught  his 
hand. 

"  Don't  let  them  make  a  fool  of  you,"  said  he.  "  These 
Three  Gray  Women  are  the  only  persons  in  the  world  that  can 
tell  you  where  to  find  the  Nymphs,  and  unless  you  get  that 
information  you  will  never  succeed  in  cutting  off  the  head  of 
Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks.  Keep  fast  hold  of  the  eye  and 
all  will  go  well." 

As  it  turned  out,  Quicksilver  was  in  the  right.  There  are 
but  few  things  that  people  prize  so  much  as  they  do  their  eye- 
sight, and  the  Gray  Women  valued  their  single  eye  as  highly 
as  if  it  had  been  half  a  dozen,  which  was  the  number  they  ought 
to  have  had.  Finding  that  there  was  no  other  way  of  recover- 
ing it,  they  at  last  told  Perseus  what  he  wanted  to  know.  No 
sooner  had  they  done  so  than  he  immediately  and  with  the 
utmost  respect  clapped  the  eye  into  the  vacant  socket  in  one  of 
their  foreheads,  thanked  them  for  their  kindness,  and  bade 
them  farewell.  Before  the  young  man  was  out  of  hearing, 
however,  they  had  got  into  a  new  dispute  because  he  happened 
to  have  given  the  eye  to  Scarecrow,  who  had  already  taken  her 
turn  of  it  when  their  trouble  with  Perseus  commenced. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  feared  that  the  Three  Gray  Women  were 
very  much  in  the  habit  of  disturbing  their  mutual  harmony  by 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  391 

bickerings  of  this  sort,  which  was  the  more  pity  as  they  could 
not  conveniently  do  without  one  another,  and  were  evidently 
intended  to  be  inseparable  companions.  As  a  general  rule,  1 
would  advise  all  people,  whether  sisters  or  brothers,  old  or 
young,  who  chance  to  have  but  one  eye  among  them,  to  culti- 
vate forbearance,  and  not  all  insist  upon  peeping  through  it  at 
once. 

Quicksilver  and  Perseus  in  the  mean  time  were  making  the 
best  of  their  way  in  quest  of  the  Nymphs.  The  old  dames  had 
given  them  such  particular  directions  that  they  were  not  long 
in  finding  them  out.  They  proved  to  be  very  different  persons 
from  Nightmare,  Shakejoint,  and  Scarecrow,  for  instead  of  being 
old  they  were  young  and  beautiful,  and  instead  of  one  eye  among 
the  sisterhood  each  Nymph  had  two  exceedingly  bright  eyes  of 
her  own,  with  which  she  looked  very  kindly  at  Perseus.  They 
seemed  to  be  acquainted  with  Quicksilver,  and  when  he  told 
them  the  adventure  which  Perseus  had  undertaken  they  made 
no  difficulty  about  giving  him  the  valuable  articles  that  were 
in  their  custody.  In  the  first  place,  they  brought  out  what 
appeared  to  be  a  small  purse,  made  of  deerskin  and  curiously 
embroidered,  and  bade  him  be  sure  and  keep  it  safe.  This  was 
the  magic  wallet.  The  Nymphs  next  produced  a  pair  of  shoes 
or  slippers  or  sandals  with  a  nice  little  pair  of  wings  at  the  heel 
of  each. 

"  Put  them  on,  Perseus,"  said  Quicksilver.  "  You  ^vill  find 
yourself  as  light-heeled  as  you  can  desire  for  the  remainder  of 
our  journey." 

So  Perseus  proceeded  to  put  one  of  the  slippers  on,  while 
he  laid  the  other  on  the  ground  by  his  side.  Unexpectedly, 
however,  this  other  slipper  spread  its  wings,  fluttered  up  off 
the  ground,  and  would  probably  have  flown  away  if  Quicksilver 
had  not  made  a  leap  and  luckily  caught  it  in  the  air. 

"Be  more  careful,"  said  he  as  he  gave  it  back  to  Perseus. 
"  It  would  frighten  the  birds  up  aloft  if  they  should  see  a  flying 
slipper  amongst  them." 

When  Perseus  had  got  on  both  of  these  wonderful  slippers 
he  was  altogether  too  buoyant  to  tread  on  earth.  Making  a 
step  or  two,  lo  and  behold  !  upward  he  popped  into  the  air,  high 
above  the  heads  of  Quicksilver  and  the  Nymphs,  and  found  it 
very  difficult  to  clamber  down  again.  Winged  slippers  and  all 
such  high-flying  contrivances  are  seldom  quite  easy  to  manage 
until   one   grows   a  little   accustomed  to   them.     Quicksilver 


;502  THE   GORGON'S  HEAD. 

laughed  at  his  companion's  involuntary  activity,  and  told  him 
that  he  must  not  be  in  so  desperate  a  hurry,  but  must  wait  for 
the  invisible  helmet. 

The  good-natured  Nymphs  had  the  helmet  with  its  dark 
tuft  of  waving  plumes  all  in  readiness  to  put  upon  his  head. 
And  now  there  happened  about  as  wonderful  an  incident  as 
anything  that  I  have  yet  told  you.  The  instant  before  the 
helmet  was  put  on,  there  stood  Perseus,  a  beautiful  young  man 
with  golden  ringlets  and  rosy  cheeks,  the  crooked  sword  by  his 
side,  and  the  brightly  polished  shield  upon  his  arm  —  a  figure 
that  seemed  all  made  up  of  courage,  sprightliness,  and  glorious 
light.  But  when  the  helmet  had  descended  over  his  white  brow 
there  was  no  longer  any  Perseus  to  be  seen  !  Nothing  but 
empty  air  !  Even  the  helmet  that  covered  him  with  its  invisi- 
bility had  vanished  ! 

"  Where  are  you,  Perseus  ?  "  asked  Quicksilver. 

"  Why,  here,  to  be  sure  !  "  answered  Perseus,  very  quietly, 
although  his  voice  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  transparent 
atmosphere.  "Just  where  I  was  a  moment  ago.  Don't  you 
see  me  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  answered  his  friend.  "  You  are  hidden 
under  the  helmet.  But  if  I  cannot  see  you,  neither  can  the 
Gorgons.  Follow  me,  therefore,  and  we  will  try  your  dexterity 
in  using  the  winged  slippers." 

With  these  words  Quicksilver's  cap  spread  its  wings,  as  if 
his  head  were  about  to  fly  away  from  his  shoulders ;  but  his 
whole  figure  rose  lightly  into  the  air,  and  Perseus  followed.  By 
the  time  they  had  ascended  a  few  hundred  feet  the  young  man 
began  to  feel  what  a  delightful  thing  it  was  to  leave  the  dull 
earth  so  far  beneath  him  and  to  be  able  to  flit  about  like  a  bird. 

It  was  now  deep  night.  Perseus  looked  upward  and  saw 
the  round,  bright,  silvery  moon,  and  thought  that  he  should 
desire  nothing  better  than  to  soar  up  thither  and  spend  his  life 
there.  Then  he  looked  downward  again  and  saw  the  earth, 
with  its  seas  and  lakes,  and  the  silver  courses  of  its  rivers,  and 
snowy  mountain  peaks,  and  the  breadth  of  its  fields,  and  the 
dark  cluster  of  its  woods,  and  its  cities  of  white  marble  ;  and, 
with  the  moonshine  sleeping  over  the  whole  scene,  it  was  as 
beautiful  as  the  moon  or  any  star  could  be.  And,  among  other 
objects,  he  saw  the  island  of  Seriphus,  where  his  dear  mother 
was.  Sometimes  he  and  Quicksilver  approached  a  cloud  that 
at  a  distance  looked  as  if  it  were  made  of  fleecy  silver,  although 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  393 

when  they  plunged  into  it  they  found  themselves  chilled  and 
moistened  with  gray  mist.  So  swift  was  their  flig/it,  however, 
that  in  an  instant  they  emerged  from  the  cloud  into  the  moon- 
light again.  Once  a  high-soaring  eagle  flew  right  against  the 
invisible  Perseus.  The  bravest  sights  were  the  meteors  that 
gleamed  suddenly  out  as  if  a  bonfire  had  been  kindled  in  the 
sky,  and  made  the  sunshine  pale  for  as  much  as  a  hundred  miles 
around  them. 

As  the  two  companions  flew  onward  Perseus  fancied  that  he 
could  hear  the  rustle  of  a  garment  close  by  his  side ;  and  it 
was  on  the  side  opposite  to  the  one  where  he  beheld  Quicksilver, 
yet  only  Quicksilver  was  visible. 

"  Whose  garment  is  this,"  inquired  Perseus,  "  that  keeps 
rustling  close  beside  me  in  the  breeze  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  my  sister's  !  "  answered  Quicksilver.  "  She  is 
coming  along  with  us,  as  I  told  you  she  would.  We  could  do 
nothing  without  the  help  of  my  sister.  You  have  no  idea  how 
wise  she  is.  She  has  such  eyes,  too  !  Why,  she  can  see  you  at 
this  moment  just  as  distinctly  as  if  you  were  not  invisible,  and 
I'll  venture  to  say  she  will  be  the  first  to  discover  the  Gorgons. " 

By  this  time,  in  their  swift  voyage  through  the  air,  they 
had  come  within  sight  of  the  great  ocean,  and  were  soon  flying 
over  it.  Far  beneath  them  the  waves  tossed  themselves  turaul- 
tuously  in  mid  sea,  or  rolled  a  white  surf  Ime  upon  the  long 
beaches,  or  foamed  against  the  rocky  cliffs  with  a  roar  that  was 
thunderous  in  the  lower  world,  although  it  became  a  gentle 
murmur,  like  the  voice  of  a  baby  half  asleep,  before  it  reached 
the  ears  of  Perseus.  Just  then  a  voice  spoke  in  the  air  close 
by  him.  It  seemed  to  be  a  woman's  voice,  and  was  melodious, 
though  not  exactly  what  might  be  called  sweet,  but  grave  and 
mild. 

"Perseus,"  said  the  voice,  "there  are  the  Gorgons." 

"  Where  ?  "  exclaimed  Perseus.     "  I  cannot  see  them." 

"On  the  shore  of  that  island  beneath  you,"  replied  the 
voice.  "A  pebble  dropped  from  your  hand  would  strike  in 
the  midst  of  them." 

"I  told  you  she  would  be  the  first  to  discover  them,"  said 
Quicksilver  to  Perseus.     "  And  there  they  are  !  " 

Straight  downward,  two  or  three  thousand  feet  below  him, 
Perseus  perceived  a  small  island  with  the  sea  breaking  into 
white  foam  all  around  its  rocky  shore  except  on  one  side,  where 
there  was  a  beach  of  snowy  sand.     He  descended  toward  it, 


394  THE   GORGON'S   HEAD. 

and,  looking  earnestly  at  a  cluster  or  heap  of  brightness  at  tlie 
foot  of  a  precipice  of  black  rocks,  behold,  there  were  the  terrible 
Gorgons  !  They  lay  fast  asleep,  soothed  by  the  thunder  of  the 
sea,  for  it  required  a  tumult  that  would  have  deafened  every- 
body else  to  lull  such  fierce  creatures  into  slumber.  The 
moonlight  glistened  on  their  steely  scales  and  on  their  golden 
wings,  which  drooped  idly  over  the  sand.  Their  brazen  claws, 
horrible  to  look  at,  were  thrust  out  and  clutched  the  wave- 
beaten  fragments  of  rock,  while  the  sleeping  Gorgons  dreamed 
of  tearing  some  poor  mortal  all  to  pieces.  The  snakes  that 
served  them  instead  of  hair  seemed  likewise  to  be  asleep, 
although  now  and  then  one  would  writhe  and  lift  its  head  and 
thrust  out  its  forked  tongue,  emitting  a  drowsy  hiss,  and  then 
let  itself  subside  among  its  sister  snakes. 

The  Gorgons  were  more  like  an  awful  gigantic  kind  of  in- 
sect —  immense  golden-winged  beetles  or  dragon  flies  or  things 
of  that  sort,  at  once  ugly  and  beautiful — than  like  anything 
else,  only  that  they  were  a  thousand  and  a  million  times  as  big. 
And,  with  all  this,  there  was  something  partly  human  about 
them,  too.  Luckily  for  Perseus,  their  faces  were  completely 
hidden  from  him  by  the  posture  in  which  they  lay,  for  had  he 
but  looked  one  instant  at  them  he  would  have  fallen  heavily  out 
of  the  air,  an  image  of  senseless  stone. 

"  Now,"  whispered  Quicksilver,  as  he  hovered  by  the  side  of 
Perseus,  —  "  now  is  your  time  to  do  the  deed  !  Be  quick,  for  if 
one  of  the  Gorgons  should  awake,  you  are  too  late." 

"  Which  shall  I  strike  at  ? "  asked  Perseus,  drawing  his 
sword  and  descending  a  little  lower.  "  They  all  three  look 
alike.  All  three  have  snaky  locks.  Which  of  the  three  is 
Medusa  ?  " 

It  must  be  understood  that  Medusa  was  the  only  one  of  these 
dragon  monsters  whose  head  Perseus  could  possibly  cut  off.  As 
for  the  other  two,  let  him  have  the  sharpest  sword  that  ever  was 
forged,  and  he  might  have  hacked  away  by  the  hour  together 
without  doing  them  the  least  harm. 

"Be  cautious,"  said  the  calm  voice  which  had  before  spoken 
to  him.  "  One  of  the  Gorgons  is  stirring  in  her  sleep,  and  is 
just  about  to  turn  over.  That  is  Medusa.  Do  not  look  at  her. 
The  sight  would  turn  you  to  stone.  Look  at  the  reflection  of 
her  face  and  figure  in  the  bright  mirror  of  your  shield." 

Perseus  now  understood  Quicksilver's  motive  for  so  earnestly 
exhorting  him  to  polish  his  shield.     In  its  surface  he  could  safely 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  395 

look  at  the  reflection  of  the  Gorgon's  face.  And  there  it  was, 
that  terrible  countenance,  mirrored  in  the  brightness  of  the 
shield,  with  the  moonlight  falling  over  it  and  displaying  all  its 
horror.  The  snakes,  whose  venomous  natures  could  not  alto- 
gether sleep,  kept  twisting  themselves  over  the  forehead.  It 
was  the  fiercest  and  most  horrible  face  that  ever  was  seen  or 
imagined,  and  yet  with  a  strange,  fearful,  and  savage  kind  of 
beauty  in  it.  The  eyes  were  closed  and  the  Gorgon  was  still  in 
a  deep  slumber,  but  there  was  an  unquiet  expression  disturbing 
her  features,  as  if  the  monster  was  troubled  with  an  ugly  dream. 
She  gnashed  her  white  tusks  and  dug  into  the  sand  with  her 
brazen  claws. 

The  snakes,  too,  seemed  to  feel  Medusa's  dream  and  to  be 
made  more  restless  by  it.  They  twined  themselves  into  tumul- 
tuous knots,  writhed  fiercely,  and  uplifted  a  hundred  hissing 
heads  without  opening  their  eyes. 

"  Now,  now  !  "  whispered  Quicksilver,  who  was  growing  im- 
patient.    "  Make  a  dash  at  the  monster !  " 

"  But  be  calm,"  said  the  grave,  melodious  voice  at  the  young 
man's  side.  "  Look  in  your  shield  as  you  fly  downward,  and 
take  care  that  you  do  not  miss  your  first  stroke." 

Perseus  flew  cautiously  downward,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on 
Medusa's  face  as  reflected  in  his  shield.  The  nearer  he  came  the 
more  terrible  did  the  snaky  visage  and  metallic  body  of  the 
monster  grow.  At  last,  when  he  found  himself  hovering  over 
her  within  arm's  length,  Perseus  uplifted  his  sword,  while  at 
the  same  instant  each  separate  snake  upon  the  Gorgon's  head 
stretched  threateningly  upward  and  Medusa  unclosed  her  eyes. 
But  she  awoke  too  late.  The  sword  was  sharp,  the  stroke  fell 
like  a  lightning  flash,  and  the  head  of  the  wicked  Medusa  tum- 
bled from  her  body  I 

"  Admirably  done  !  "  cried  Quicksilver.  "  Make  haste  and 
clap  the  head  into  your  magic  wallet." 

To  the  astonishment  of  Perseus,  the  small  embroidered 
wallet  which  he  had  hung  about  his  neck,  and  which  had 
hitherto  been  no  bigger  than  a  purse,  grew  all  at  once  large 
enough  to  contain  Medusa's  head.  As  quick  as  thought  he 
snatched  it  up,  with  the  snakes  still  writhing  upon  it,  and 
thrust  it  in. 

"  Your  task  is  done,"  said  the  calm  voice.  "  Now  fly,  for 
the  other  Gorgons  will  do  their  utmost  to  take  vengeance  for 
Medusa's  death." 


396  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

It  was  indeed  necessary  to  take  flight,  for  Perseus  had  not 
done  the  deed  so  quietly  but  that  the  clash  of  his  sword  and 
the  hissing  of  the  snakes  and  the  thump  of  Medusa's  head  as  it 
tumbled  upon  the  sea-beaten  sand  awoke  the  other  two  monsters. 
There  they  sat  for  an  instant,  sleepily  rubbing  their  eyes  with 
their  brazen  fingers,  while  all  the  snakes  on  their  heads  reared 
themselves  on  end  with  surprise  and  with  venomous  malice 
against  they  knew  not  what.  But  when  the  Gorgons  saw  the 
scaly  carcass  of  Medusa  headless,  and  her  golden  wings  all 
ruffled  and  half  spread  out  on  the  sand,  it  was  really  awful  to 
hear  what  yells  and  screeches  they  set  up.  And  then  the  snakes  ! 
They  sent  forth  a  hundredfold  hiss  with  one  consent,  and 
Medusa's  snakes  answered  them  out  of  the  magic  wallet. 

No  sooner  were  the  Gorgons  broad  awake  than  they  hurtled 
upward  into  the  air,  brandishing  their  brass  talons,  gnashing 
their  horrible  tusks,  and  flapping  their  huge  wings  so  wildly 
that  some  of  the  golden  feathers  were  shaken  out  and  floated 
down  upon  the  shore.  And  there,  perhaps,  those  very  feathers 
lie  scattered  till  this  day.  Up  rose  the  Gorgons,  as  I  tell  you, 
staring  horribly  about  in  hopes  of  turning  somebody  to  stone. 
Had  Perseus  looked  them  in  the  face,  or  had  he  fallen  into  their 
clutches,  his  poor  mother  would  never  have  kissed  her  boy  again. 
But  he  took  good  care  to  turn  his  eyes  another  way,  and  as  he 
wore  the  helmet  of  invisibility,  the  Gorgons  knew  not  in  what 
direction  to  follow  him  ;  nor  did  he  fail  to  make  the  best  use 
of  the  winged  slippers  by  soaring  upward  a  perpendicular  mile 
or  so.  At  that  height,  when  the  screams  of  those  abominable 
creatures  sounded  faintly  beneath  him,  he  made  a  straight 
course  for  the  island  of  Seriphus,  in  order  to  carry  Medusa's 
head  to  King  Polydectes. 

I  have  no  time  to  tell  you  of  several  marvelous  things  that 
befell  Perseus  on  his  way  homeward,  such  as  his  killing  a 
hideous  sea  monster  just  as  it  was  on  the  point  of  devouring 
a  beautiful  maiden,  nor  how  he  changed  an  enormous  giant  into 
a  mountain  of  stone  merely  by  shoAving  him  the  head  of  the 
Gorgon.  If  you  doubt  this  latter  story,  you  may  make  a  voy- 
age to  Africa  some  day  or  other  and  see  the  very  mountain, 
which  is  still  known  by  the  ancient  giant's  name. 

Finally,  our  brave  Perseus  arrived  at  the  island,  where  he 
expected  to  see  his  dear  mother.  But  during  his  absence  the 
wicked  king  had  treated  Danae  so  very  ill  that  she  was  com- 
pelled to  make  her  escape,  and  had  taken  refuge  in  a  temple, 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  39? 

where  some  good  old  priests  were  extremely  kind  to  her. 
These  praiseworthy  priests,  and  the  kind-hearted  fisherman 
who  had  first  shown  hospitality  to  Danae  and  little  Perseus 
when  he  found  them  afloat  in  the  chest,  seem  to  have  been  the 
only  persons  on  the  island  who  cared  about  doing  right.  All 
the  rest  of  the  people,  as  well  as  King  Polydectes  himself,  were 
remarkably  ill-behaved,  and  deserved  no  better  destiny  than 
that  which  was  now  to  happen. 

Not  finding  his  mother  at  home,  Perseus  went  straight  to  the 
palace,  and  was  immediately  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the 
king.  Polydectes  was  by  no  means  rejoiced  to  see  him,  for  he 
had  felt  almost  certain  in  his  own  evil  mind  that  the  Gorgons 
would  have  torn  the  poor  young  man  to  pieces  and  have  eaten 
him  up  out  of  the  way.  However,  seeing  him  safely  returned, 
he  put  the  best  face  he  could  upon  the  matter  and  asked  Per- 
seus how  he  had  succeeded. 

"  Have  you  performed  your  promise  ?  "  inquired  he.  "  Have 
you  brought  me  the  head  of  Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks  ?  If 
not,  young  man,  it  will  cost  you  dear,  for  I  must  have  a  bridal 
present  for  the  beautiful  Princess  Hippodamia,  and  there  is 
nothing  else  that  she  would  admire  so  much." 

"  Yes,  please  your  majesty,"  answered  Perseus  in  a  quiet  way, 
as  if  it  were  no  very  wonderful  deed  for  such  a  young  man  as 
he  to  perform.  "  I  have  brought  you  the  Gorgon's  head,  snaky 
locks,  and  all." 

"  Indeed  !  Pray  let  me  see  it,"  quoth  King  Polydectes.  "  It 
must  be  a  very  curious  spectacle,  if  all  that  travelers  tell  about 
it  be  true." 

"Your  majesty  is  in  the  right,"  replied  Perseus.  "It  is 
really  an  object  that  will  be  pretty  certain  to  fix  the  regards 
of  all  who  look  at  it.  And,  if  your  majesty  think  fit,  I  would 
suggest  that  a  holiday  be  proclaimed,  and  that  all  your  majesty's 
subjects  be  summoned  to  behold  this  wonderful  curiosity.  Few 
of  them,  I  imagine,  have  seen  a  Gorgon's  head  before,  and  per- 
haps never  may  again." 

The  king  well  knew  that  his  subjects  were  an  idle  set  of  rep- 
robates, and  very  fond  of  sight-seeing,  as  idle  persons  usually 
are.  So  he  took  the  young  man's  advice,  and  sent  out  heralds 
and  messengers  in  all  directions  to  blow  the  trumpet  at  the 
street  corners  and  in  the  market  places  and  wherever  two  roads 
met,  and  summon  everybody  to  court.  Thither,  accordingly, 
came  a  great  multitude  of  good-for-nothing  vagabonds,  all  of 


398  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

whom,  out  of  pure  love  of  mischief,  would  have  been  glad  if 
Perseus  had  met  with  some  ill  hap  in  his  encounter  with  the 
Gorgons.  If  there  were  any  better  people  in  the  island  (as  I 
really  hope  there  may  have  been,  although  the  story  tells 
nothing  about  any  such),  they  stayed  quietly  at  home,  minding 
their  own  business  and  taking  care  of  their  little  children. 
Most  of  the  inhabitants,  at  all  events,  ran  as  fast  as  they  could 
to  the  palace,  and  shoved  and  pushed  and  elbowed  one  another 
in  their  eagerness  to  get  near  a  balcony  on  which  Perseus 
showed  himself-  holding  the  embroidered  wallet  in  his  hand. 

On  a  platform  within  full  view  of  tlie  balcony  sat  the  mighty 
King  Polydectes,  amid  his  evil  counselors  and  Avith  his  flatter- 
ing courtiers  in  a  semicircle  round  about  him.  Monarch,  coun- 
selors, courtiers,  and  subjects  all  gazed  eagerly  toward  Perseus. 

"  Show  us  the  head !  Show  us  the  head !  "  shouted  the 
people  ;  and  there  was  a  fierceness  in  their  cry,  as  if  they  would 
tear  Perseus  to  pieces  unless  he  should  satisfy  them  with  what 
he  had  to  show.  "  Show  us  the  head  of  Medusa  with  the  snaky 
locks  !  " 

A  feeling  of  sorrow  and  pity  came  over  the  youthful  Perseus. 

"  O  King  Polydectes,"  cried  he,  "  and  ye  many  people,  I  am 
very  loath  to  show  you  the  Gorgon's  head." 

"  Ah,  the  villain  and  coward !  "  yelled  the  people,  more 
fiercely  than  before.  "  He  is  making  game  of  us  !  He  has  no 
Gorgon's  head !  Show  us  the  head  if  you  have  it,  or  we  will 
take  your  own  head  for  a  football !  " 

The  evil  counselors  whispered  bad  advice  in  the  king's  ear ; 
the  courtiers  murmured,  with  one  consent,  that  Perseus  had 
shown  disrespect  to  their  royal  lord  and  master  ;  and  the  great 
King  Polydectes  himself  waved  his  hand  and  ordered  him,  with 
the  stern,  deep  voice  of  authority,  on  his  peril  to  produce  the 
head :  — 

"  Show  me  the  Gorgon's  head  or  I  will  cut  off  your  own  1 " 

And  Perseus  sighed. 

"  This  instant,"  repeated  Polydectes,  "  or  you  die  !  " 

"  Behold  it,  then  !  "  cried  Perseus,  in  a  voice  like  the  blast  of 
a  trumpet. 

And  suddenly  holding  up  the  head,  not  an  eyelid  had  time 
to  wink  before  the  wicked  King  Polydectes,  his  evil  counselors, 
and  all  his  fierce  subjects  were  no  longer  anything  but  the  mere 
images  of  a  monarch  and  his  people.  They  were  all  fixed  for- 
ever in  the  look  and  attitude  of  that  moment.     At  the  first 


PROMETHEUS.  899 

glimpse  of  the  terrible  head  of  Medusa  they  whitened  into 
marble.  And  Perseus  thrust  the  head  back  into  his  wallet,  and 
went  to  tell  his  dear  mother  that  she  need  no  longer  be  afraid 
of  the  wicked  King  Polydectes. 


PROMETHEUS. 

By  lord  BYRON. 

[Lord  George  Noel  GtOrdon  Byron  :  A  famous  English  poet ;  bom  in  Lon- 
don, January  22,  1788.  At  the  age  of  ten  he  succeeded  to  the  estate  and  title  of 
his  granduncle  William,  fifth  Lord  Byron.  He  was  educated  at  Harrow  and 
Cambridge,  and  in  1807  published  his  first  volume  of  poems,  "  Hours  of  Idle- 
ness." After  a  tour  through  eastern  Europe  he  brought  out  two  cantos  of 
"  Childe  Harold,"  which  met  with  instantaneous  success,  and  soon  after  he  mar- 
ried the  heiress  Miss  Millbanke.  The  union  proving  unfortunate,  Byron  left 
England,  and  passed  several  years  in  Italy.  In  1823  he  joined  the  Greek,  insur- 
gents in  Cephalonia,  and  later  at  Missolonghi,  where  he  died  of  a  fever  April 
19,  1824.  His  chief  poetical  works  are:  "Childe  Harold,"  "Don  Juan," 
"Manfred,"  "Cain,"  "Marino  Faliero,"  "  Sardanapalus,"  "The  Giaour," 
*' Bride  of  Abydos,"  "The  Corsair,"  "Lara,"  and  "Mazeppa."] 


Titan  !  to  whose  immortal  eyes 

The  sufferings  of  mortality, 

Seen  in  their  sad  reality, 
Were  not  as  things  that  gods  despise ; 
What  was  thy  pity's  recompense  ? 
A  silent  suffering,  and  intense ; 
The  rock,  the  vulttu-e,  and  the  chain, 
All  that  the  proud  can  feel  of  pain, 
The  agony  they  do  not  show. 
The  suffocating  sense  of  woe. 

Which  speaks  but  in  its  loneliness, 
And  then  is  jealous  lest  the  sky 
Shoidd  have  a  listener,  nor  will  sigh 

Until  his  voice  is  echoless. 


n. 

Titan !  to  thee  the  strife  was  given 
Between  the  suffering  and  the  will, 
Which  torture  where  they  cannot  kill ; 

And  the  inexorable  Heave^, 

And  the  deaf  tyranny  o£  I'^^W^ 


400  PROMETHEUS. 

The  ruling  principle  of  Hate, 
Which  for  its  pleasure  doth  create 
The  things  it  may  annihilate, 

Refused  thee  even  the  boon  to  die : 

The  -wretched  gift  eternity 
Was  thine  —  and  thou  hast  borne  it  well. 

All  that  the  Thunderer  wrung  from  thee 
Was  but  the  menace  which  flung  back 
On  him  the  torments  of  thy  rack ; 

The  fate  thou  didst  so  well  foresee, 
But  would  not  to  appease  him  tell ; 
And  in  thy  Silence  was  his  Sentence, 
And  in  his  Soul  a  vain  repentance, 
And  evil  dread  so  ill  dissembled 
That  in  his  hand  the  lightnings  trembled. 


III. 

Thy  Godlike  crime  was  to  be  kind. 

To  render  with  thy  precepts  less 

The  sum  of  human  wretchedness. 
And  strengthen  Man  with  his  own  mind ; 
But  baffled  as  thou  wert  from  high. 
Still  in  thy  patient  energy, 
In  the  endurance,  and  repulse 

Of  thine  impenetrable  Spirit, 
Which  Earth  and  Heaven  could  not  convulse, 

A  mighty  lesson  we  inherit : 
Thou  art  a  symbol  and  a  sign 

To  Mortals  of  their  fate  and  force ; 
Like  thee,  Man  is  in  part  divine, 

A  troubled  stream  from  a  pure  source ; 
And  Man  in  portions  can  foresee 
His  own  funereal  destiny ; 
His  wretchedness,  and  his  resistance. 
And  his  sad  unallied  existence : 
To  which  his  Spirit  may  oppose 
Itself  —  and  equal  to  all  woes, 

And  a  firm  will,  and  a  deep  sense 
Which  even  in  torture  can  descry 

Its  own  concentered  recompense. 
Triumphant  where  it  dares  defy, 
And  making  Death  a  Victory. 


il 


^'' 


